The Training Outtakes
by ClubLulu333
Summary: Outtakes and Alternate Scenes from The Training
1. Chapter 1

As always, thank you SO much to **BK2U** for editing these outtakes.

Thanks so much for following these, and for leaving your comments on them.

* * *

Her dress is pink.

Really pink.

She's standing next to Four, her fingers smoothing over the bright fabric of her sundress, and she's looking at me with a nervous hopefulness. Her eyes land on mine for a second, large and wide, before they take in the mess on my desk. For one slight moment, I regret not cleaning up before I left yesterday. There are piles of papers strewn about; pre-initiation paperwork that will stay stuck in these same piles long past the due date, order requests from at least two factions, a list of demands from the dining hall staff, and my coffee from three days ago.

The girl shifts slightly, her stare back on me.

Her name is Everly, and today I watched her jump.

I know exactly who she is.

The minute she chose Dauntless, her name was sent to me. It was added to the long list that I needed to go over. While the task was often passed off to one of the lower ranking office members, I'd agreed to go through it to make sure everything checked out. No surprise initiates, no one over or under the choosing age, and no one that was here by a forced hand.

Everly's decision was definitely her own. And while it was surprising, it wasn't completely unheard of. Amity typically stayed in Amity, and at their most adventurous, they chose Candor. But I can tell she's braver than that. My eyes rake over her quickly, trying to make a snap judgement about just what to do with her.

She's pretty, and little, and I understand Four's hesitation to have her in his class. I even understand his very obvious attempt give her a fair shot here. He knows full well that if he keeps her in his class, trying to claw her way through the all-male testosterone-fueled frenzy, she won't stand a chance. Not only because they largely outnumber her, but because it's also dangerous. All it would take is for one of them to be overcome by some sort of sudden lonely urge, and she'd be pinned to the mattress or up against the wall, and I'd be explaining to Candor —and Jeanine — just why we had an issue of sexual assault mixed with murder on our hands.

Word could get out that Dauntless isn't safe. Our numbers could dwindle. I can already feel the headache beginning to burn behind my eyes at the thought, trying to explain to Jeanine why I can't supply her any men at a moment's notice.

I sigh, finding myself half-listening to Four.

He's talking endlessly, droning on about fairness and duty and the right thing to do.

Sometimes he just tries too hard. I don't doubt he's noticed that she's pretty, and I don't doubt he sees it as in his best interest to help her survive. He was the same way with Tris. He'd tried his best to hide his burgeoning desire to keep her in Dauntless. But at least Tris had the advantage of having other females in her class, others to help ground her after her training days were over. Everly will have no one.

He seems to be finishing up, so I nod at him, trying to pretend I've been listening this entire time. I pause for a long moment before I speak, knowing full well he won't like what I'm about to say.

"Eric could train her. Keep her separate from both groups. It would be the only fair thing to do," I state, leaning back in my chair. I stare at the coffee cups in front of me, trying to figure out which one I brought in with me this morning.

Four's face falls the way I thought it would. He looks slightly displeased now. His eyebrows knit inward, and his mouth turns down. "You think that's the best solution? I was thinking maybe Lauren could help her…"

I wave my hand to motion for him to stop and Four quiets down. I've already mentally run through my options. If she stays in Four's class, chances are she'll be attacked long before she has a chance to prove her worth. If I place her in Lauren's class, I'm practically signing her dismissal now. The Dauntless-born are a different breed. They have an unfair advantage simply by being in their own element during training. Not to mention the fact that most of them have been raised for this sort of environment.

That only leaves one choice.

"It needs to be impartial," I remind him.

"Eric is hardly impartial," Four retorts quietly. I watch as he paces back and forth for a minute, and I know he's not going to let this go easily. "Having her train with Eric might be worse than leaving her to possibly be murdered in her sleep."

I try hard to keep my face neutral. Eric might not be anyone's first choice of trainer, but I can't argue that he can produce results.

I turn my stare back to the girl and she smiles sweetly, unware of who we are even talking about.

"How do you feel about that, Everly?" I ask her, putting her on the spot. It's unfair of me, but I use it to my advantage.

I watch as she shrugs her shoulders. She's much smaller-looking up close, and her dress only makes her look younger. Her hair is long and dark, her skin is prettily sun-kissed, and she couldn't look more like she just walked out of Amity if she tried.

"Is it…uh fair…if I'm trained alone? Wouldn't that be unfair? To have my own trainer?" She looks slightly hesitant, almost nervous as though she isn't sure whose side she should be on. It could be advantageous for whoever trains her. I can tell she'll be loyal to them, and only them. No wonder Four wants to keep her around him. She'll probably hang on his every word, giving him the utmost reassurance of his training skills.

My gaze snaps up when Four opens his mouth.

"Eric is hardly fair." Four's voice is flat and his fists clench tightly, and I can tell he's forcing himself to seem less invested than he already is. But he's right, though. Eric is the furthest thing from fair. I wonder if part of Four's reluctance is because he knows that if Eric goes along with this, he'll do everything in his power, by any means at his disposal, to make sure his initiate is the best.

I shake my head at him. "He'll be fair. In fact, he'll probably really enjoy helping you out again." I say the last part without thinking. For a moment Four's face goes stony. I'm well aware of his past with Eric, and their rivalry was not a quiet one. I throw a smile towards Everly. She's still patiently standing there, trying to keep her attention on me. "She might wind up better than some of the initiates in your class."

Four lets out a sigh before he throws his hands up in the air, palms facing me. "Whatever you think. However, if she turns up dead from exhaustion in a few days, this is all on you."

I give Four a dirty look. I'm not about to willingly send Everly off to her death. He'll do that himself if he has her stay in his class. "I'll make sure she stays alive. In fact, I'll take her to Eric myself." I let my eyes fall back to her. Her hands are pulling at the bright fabric, smoothing down invisible wrinkles. She stares up at me, and for a moment I wonder if Eric might actually enjoy training her. She's not what he typically goes for when he chooses his 'preferred' Dauntless members, but she'll be a challenge for him.

Four finally nods at Everly, and he looks terribly nervous.

"Good luck, Everly."

* * *

Four heads out with a reluctant goodbye. I want to remind him he's only known her half a day, and most of it has been spent with the entire training class. He throws her one final look, his eyes lingering a moment too long, filled with worry. I resist the urge to shoo him away, and instead I focus on the map I've yanked out from a file on my desk.

She'll need somewhere to stay, somewhere tucked away out of sight.

Leaving her to sleep with the initiates is a risky move, even if they know she's being trained under someone else. Eric is intimidating, but these young men don't know him. In a few days, they'll be focused only on their own survival. Their level of aggression will be elevated not only by the training, but by the threat of becoming factionless. Everly would be nothing more than one tiny warm body for them to destroy in their quest to stay here.

Four's right; she won't make it through more than a few nights with them.

My eyes scan the compound layout, focusing on the lower level apartments. They are mostly full, and the unoccupied units are highlighted for renovation. They'll be ready by the time the initiates are done, but that doesn't help me now. I flip the page over and my eyes land on the floor where most of the leaders reside.

There is one spare apartment that is marked as vacant.

Putting her up in one of these is not high on my list of choices. Our newest Leader-in-Training hasn't even been assigned one, and more than likely this apartment has been set aside for him. I glance at the date on the map and frown. It's dated back a few months, and I can't even be sure it's the most current map we have.

I make up my mind quickly. Everly is standing beside the desk, her stare on the walls. There is a large silver plaque with the Dauntless manifesto, and she's reading it intently.

I pick up the key to an old apartment and I shove it into my pocket.

It doesn't unlock any current doors, but she doesn't know that.

"Alright, I think we're ready. Welcome to Dauntless, Everly." I rise up from my desk and smile at her, taking note of the way her whole face beams.

Eric's gonna have a field day with this one.

* * *

Arlene is smirking, her glass of wine still more than half full.

"You know her form had his last name on it, don't you?" She takes the smallest sip ever and I shake my head. Arlene has never been a big drinker, especially when she practically lives on call at the infirmary. I swear she never sleeps either.

"I saw. He said he wasn't paying attention when he filled it out," I tell her, taking a bite of steak. She's made dinner, and I can't appreciate it enough. I'd spent the entire morning fielding emails from Jeanine, questioning her precious Eric's actions. Her demands hadn't stopped even after I'd informed her of what he was doing. She didn't like when he was busy. She always deemed her work much more pressing, and his training Everly was nothing more than an inconvenient thorn in her plans.

Arlene snorts. On anyone else it would unladylike, but Arlene isn't like anyone else. I've known her since they day she arrived in Dauntless, sent fresh out of Erudite to train our medical team. Her sharp blue blouse had been matched by her sharp gaze, and she'd nearly chewed my head off at the disarray of the infirmary.

I couldn't have enjoyed her more.

"Why is Coulter so into this one? She's hardly the typical blonde idiot he normally lets grace his presence." She stares at me intently, and I know she's as curious as ever. To her, Everly is on the same level of interest as some sort of infectious disease Arlene could study and dissect before categorizing it.

I shrug. "He does seem rather possessive of her."

Possessive wasn't a strong enough word to describe Eric's attitude towards his trainee. I'd kept my word to Four that I'd make sure Everly stayed alive, and I'd found myself watching more of Eric's training class than I'd ever thought I would. Despite feeling slightly voyeuristic, I'd found him rather interesting to observe.

At first he kept his distance from her, intimidating the poor girl from afar. It didn't take long for him to realize she'd let him touch her. He then preferred to use his whole body as his main training tool. I watched his fingers linger on her side long after he'd positioned her, and I'd watched him lean in closely, his mouth near her ear, his chest against her back. More often than not, she was sort of pinned against him while he taught her to be lethal.

Most of their training was done alone. He'd kept her separated from Four's class, and at first I'd thought it was to keep his methods away from their prying eyes. But the longer the training went on, the closer the two of them seemed. She smiled at him quite often, her cheeks flushed from their intense workouts, and her eyes beaming when he showed the tiniest speck of approval. She only had Eric in her life now; he was all she had to fall back on, and it was only intensified by the fact that she was staying in his apartment. But it didn't seem to matter to her. Not only did she seem thrilled with her training, she was truly excelling at it.

Arlene had picked up on almost everything. She'd questioned me about their living status the same day she'd done Everly's physical. It was hard to ignore the fact that Eric's trainee was listed with the same last name as his and shared an apartment with him.

I'd deflected the question the same way I had when Four had brought it up. I'd focused more on my annoyance that he'd interrupted my afternoon coffee and muffin break.

"She seems almost fond of him," Arlene announces as she cuts into her asparagus. "And he's unexpectedly tolerant of her."

I wasn't the only one who had picked up on Eric's surprising attitude towards her. I had assumed he would have thought of her as a challenge, and at first he had. He'd begun her training aggressively, working her tirelessly. I'd watched her drop quite a bit of the softness from her frame, and some days she looked like she could curl up on the floor and fall asleep without a second thought.

Then, it turned into something different. He'd slowed their pace, making sure she mastered everything he asked of her. I couldn't quite pinpoint the shift in their training, either. It seemed like one day they were sparring relentlessly, Eric nearly pummeling her into the mat, and the next day his whole face was doggedly scanning the dining hall until his eyes landed on her. He then ate lunch with her, his bulky frame dwarfing hers, while their knees touched.

He still scowled while they ate, his eyes intensely fixed to make sure she ate enough, but they never left her. I'd wondered if she knew how much he looked at her.

"I think he's got a bit of a crush on her."

My words make Arlene grin. They sound especially ridiculous when you consider the subject; Eric Coulter is the last man anyone would expect to have a crush on any girl, especially this cheerful little thing from Amity. Yet there's something humanizing about it. I have no doubt Eric hates the very feelings that are running through him. The unfamiliar stirrings in his chest hardly fit into his plans, especially those pressed upon him by Jeanine.

"Damn it." Arlene frowns at her phone. There's a text from Molly on it, and Arlene purses her lips. "Another moron fell off the railing again. I told Jeremy he needed to fix that. Or at least put up a sign to steer clear for now."

"Jeremy isn't the maintenance man," I remind her. I can feel the disappointment welling up as she fusses for a moment, and I know it'll be mere minutes before she leaves. Arlene is nothing if not dedicated to her job, and as Chief of Staff she has little choice but to be.

"He's certainly not doing much else," she tells me, cocking an eyebrow at me. I resist making a witty comeback. I rarely work with Jeremy, so I can't say much.

Arlene leaves shortly after, her dinner wrapped up to take with her and her wine glass still mostly full.

I stare at it for a long moment before I dump it out.

* * *

"Just sign here, sir."

Rylan is in front of me, his face impatient. He's thrust a paper at me and shoved a pen into my hands.

"What is this?" I barely have time to look at it. Rylan is so antsy he's almost twitching, and he looks like he could turn and bolt at any moment. "A marriage license? Who are you marrying?"

Rylan grins, his whole face lighting up. "It's not for me. It's for a friend."

"Of course it is," I answer. I tiredly sign my name on the bottom of it, along with the census paperwork beneath it. "Congratulations," I tell him, reclining back in the large leather office chair. Arlene had gifted it to me a few months ago. She'd informed me that it would be much better for my back than the ancient one I'd inherited along with this office.

"I'll pass it on," he announces over his shoulder. I watch as Rylan takes the papers and half-salutes me. I narrow my eyes at him and he all but sprints from the office.

* * *

"You're okay with this? That he married her?" Lauren's eyes are flashing with disbelief. She's standing with her hands on her hips, her dark leather jacket tightly zipped up. "It's rather unfair. Even if Everly fails her initiation, she won't have to leave, because she's now _married_ to one our leaders." She emphasizes the word 'married' as though I've gone deaf.

"Yes, I'm aware of it."

I don't have much to say in Eric's defense, nor is it necessary. While Eric's actions were usually questionable at best, marrying his initiate was the first thing he'd ever done that I had no qualms about.

Lauren looks livid. "That's against the rules."

"We don't actually have any rules about marriage in this faction," I remind her. I'm running low on patience today, and Lauren needs to watch it. She's not the first person to march in here concerned about Eric's marriage.

The news had made its way around a very small pool of people: the census bureau, who changed their recorded living and marital status; the people in the housing administration; a few of the other leaders; and the even the lady who ran the dessert bar.

I'd found myself slightly relieved to discover that the marriage license had been for Eric. His actions towards Everly made sense now; he was a far braver man for admitting his feelings for her and actually convincing her to marry him. I try to picture him getting down on one knee and asking her to spend the rest of her life with him.

I stop, my coffee cup halfway to my mouth and my eyes fly open as something dawns on me. I can't picture it, not at all. Because…

"I heard his little wife didn't know she was married to him." Lauren's tone is triumphant, and for a second I can do nothing but stare at her. "I mean, why would anyone marry Eric?" She grimaces.

I stare at her, my brain whirling.

Rylan, shoving a marriage certificate at me. Hurrying me to sign it. His aversion to answering any further questions. Me, signing it without even glancing at the names on it, because I was too busy to focus on it. I can put it all together only now.

Eric didn't ask her.

He just…married her.

On one hand, it's ambitious. You can't fault Eric for going after what he wants. While I can barely imagine what his reasoning was for this, I know that if I ask him, his answer will be well thought out. A trickle of fear runs up my spine when I think he might be doing it to keep her away from Jeanine, and I try to shove that thought away.

"You look weird," Lauren says, hands back on her hips.

I narrow my eyes as I drink the bitter liquid. "Leave him alone. It's his business and not yours. And her name is on the marriage certificate and I doubt he held her at gunpoint and forced her to sign it."

Lauren lets out a huff of exasperation. "Fine. But I'm going to ask him about it the next time I see him."

She storms out of the office, slamming the door shut behind her. I pick up the phone on my desk, slowly punching in the numbers for the only person who will find this as interesting as me.

* * *

I call them into my office.

I've been watching them less and less lately, mostly because I know she's safe now.

Eric rarely leaves her side. They walk together in the hallways, their hands brushing against each other and their fingers occasionally intertwining with each other's. He towers over her, his large, muscled frame always close to her smaller one. She smiles up at him often, her whole face happy and her body always angled towards him.

They both watch each other a sickening amount. I've never seen Eric really look at anyone the way he looks at her. Sometimes I catch a funny look in his eyes: a sort of uneasiness behind them, as though he could lose her at any moment. As though she might slip away, realizing just who he is.

Sometimes, in these moments, he looks like a different man. Not like the Eric that's held the barrel of his gun to someone's temple, barking at them to spill whatever information he wanted. Not like the Eric who worked tirelessly to please a woman who would never be happy no matter what he did for her. And not like the man who kept everyone away from him, using his ill temper and his pure strength to keep them out.

He looks happy; absurdly and smugly happy.

Except for right now. Before me, Eric is silent. He cocks his head to the side for a moment before standing abruptly and ending the meeting on his own terms. "Is there anything else you need before we go?" He's not pleased to share his wife with the other leaders and the thought of her training with someone else has caused his jaw to tense.

I shake my head. "Not off the top of my head. I'll email both of you the list of changes I've made, along with a copy of when they need to be done by. Enjoy your next week off, Everly."

They both stand, her eyes finding Eric.

I flash them a wide, genuine smile.

"Oh, and congratulations on the marriage."


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to BK2U for editing this Outtake!

* * *

I stare at his date.

She's hideous.

Well, not really.

But kind of.

I mean, I've seen worse crawling around Dauntless. I've been there a few times, Jeanine having brought me along with her. Each time, I'd found myself surrounded by the visually offensive reminders of what Eric had left me for. They had all looked so altered. Piercings here and there, unnaturally colored hair, and disturbingly tacky clothing; a garish display of too tight, overly-revealing outfits that practically screamed for attention. His attention.

It had made me miss the refinement of Erudite. Luckily, Jeanine's visits there have been rare.

Tonight was supposed to be one of my favorite nights. Working closely with Jeanine has meant that I always attend every banquet and dinner with her. Every meeting she has I come along with her, including the most recent exclusive luncheons where she mostly talked to the stoic scientists about her current project. I always listen carefully, knowing that all information is useful.

But tonight, tonight I will see him.

Eric is the only imperfection in my life.

He's the only problem that I can't apply any sort of logic to solving. I grew up knowing him, sharing classes with him, and he was the first boy who made my heart skip a beat. Even at a young age, Eric was rather calculated. There was a dangerous air that seemed to surround him. He was always very focused, selective about who he associated with, and precise with his choice of words when he made the rare decision to bestow them.

He is smart, so much smarter than I could ever hope to be. And I regularly scored high enough to be considered one of the smartest in the class. But Eric's intelligence is different; it's a sort of lethal genius that intimidates most people. Especially if you talk with him and he doesn't like you. He and I had sort of bonded over some of our later exams, but it wasn't until we were about to choose our factions that we fell into bed together.

He was just as focused as a lover, even more so when he realized the effects his actions had. I could almost see the way his mind worked. Calculating and cataloging every touch, mentally noting what worked and what didn't.

I wasn't brokenhearted when he chose Dauntless. I knew he wasn't happy in Erudite; he was far too smart and restless, and I knew he was growing distracted. I'd also seen a few of the higher-level teachers whispering in his ear. I wasn't blind, either. He'd been groomed for something bigger, and I had no place in his future life.

Our relationship of sorts had continued even after he transferred to Dauntless. Gone was the more slender frame he'd once had. He'd never been scrawny, but now he was brutally built. His muscles were solid, and my stomach dropped every time I saw him. He visited Erudite quite often, his eyes perusing me up and down before he entered Jeanine's office. He never forgot about me, and I knew he never would.

Until tonight.

When he showed up with her.

She doesn't really look like any member of Dauntless I've ever seen. Her hair is long and dark, parts of it braided and twisted into this long ponytail pulled off to the side. She has large eyes, pretty pale skin, and she is tiny. Really little compared to him. Which makes me frown. I'm not quite as tall as Eric, but I am taller than most girls. This one barely comes up to his chest.

Her dress is pretty, nothing special and nothing expensive. I can only assume she purchased it in Dauntless with the help of some girlfriend living out some fairytale fantasy. It's longer and not quite as fitted as I'd expect someone from Dauntless to wear.

Worst of all is that they both look happy. Well, she looks happy and Eric looks pleased. I've seen that expression on his face before, on a few rare occasions. Once when he corrected one of our higher-level teachers, and once when the second smartest kid in our class had a nervous breakdown before our final exams.

She is stuck to his side, and I try to control the bitter taste of jealousy that's burning in my throat. I refuse to admit it's jealousy, but I know full well that it is. She's pressed against him, and my eyes are glued to his hands, his slender fingers toying with the strap on her dress. As though he's got half a mind to push it off her shoulder, and he's only controlling himself because he's here in the middle of this banquet room.

His head tilts towards her, and his grey eyes, which used to focus on my face, are now fixed on her. I watch as his lips quirk up and his gaze drops to her neck, spotted with faint red marks. His eyes trail upwards then, landing on her mouth.

It's all I need to see to know he's slept with her.

* * *

I find her in the bathroom.

She looks so fucking pleased, so delightfully happy to be standing here that I can't help but scowl. I know why she's happy and it makes me furious. Eric had never promised me any happily ever after, but I never saw this coming.

"She's from Amity," Jeanine had told me, her words cool in my ear. I almost recoiled at the thought. Is that what he's into now? Little virginal farm girls? Maybe she slipped him some peace serum and that's why he's been looking at her with such a dizzied expression.

I walked by their table on my way to the bathroom, hoping to catch Eric's eyes. I was waiting for him to wink at me, to reveal that this was all a big joke, that Max had forced him to bring someone and this girl was the best thing he could come up with. But he didn't. He didn't even bother to look up from his discussion with Max.

My heart leapt to my throat when I saw the placard with their names on it. It was next to his drink, shoved out of the way to make room for their salad plates.

 _Mr. and Mrs. Eric Coulter._

It left me dumbfounded. There was no way she was actually married to him. I felt my teeth grit together. It was a mistake, it had to be.

Now she's staring at me, her eyes wide and pretty, and she smiles.

I narrow my eyes at her. She must be kidding. I don't know if she knows who I am, but I'll make damned sure she does.

"Are you really Eric's date?" The words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them, but they don't sound as bitchy as I wish they did. Part of me is pleased that I've kept my cool, and part of me wants to suggest she board the next train back to Farmville.

"I am," she answers, and she says it so sincerely that I could throw up.

"Interesting." I don't mean to say the word aloud, but I do. "He's never brought anyone with him before. Ever."

I wait for her to say something, but she simply shrugs. Maybe Eric's fucked her into a mental oblivion, but she simply averts her stare as though she knows better than to answer. Her silence only makes me angrier. I want answers. I want the cold, hard facts about why he's brought her. I want a detailed report on what she's done with him, how she's gotten him to look at her the way he does, and how she convinced him to go along with the fantasy that they are married.

I swallow and feel my lips turn up into a wide, fake smile. "It's cute that you look so happy next to him." I pause, letting the words hang in the air for a moment. "Too bad he'll be done with you soon."

I wait for my words to scare her, for her eyes to widen and her face to reflect her fear of losing her temporary position beside Eric. But instead, she looks mildly irritated.

"Oh, really?" Her voice is annoying, far too sweet.

I cock my head to the side, and my eyes narrow in glee at Amity's response to my taunting. "I know who you are. And I know what you're thinking. How you'll be the one to change him." I pull myself up to my full height, and I look down my nose at her. "Don't be too devastated, little girl, when he doesn't fall in love with you."

My words are harsh and cruel, and for a brief moment, rather satisfying. I want her to feel the same sharpness that I do; the same uneasy ache that won't leave my stomach. She'll feel it. When he's had enough of her inexperience and her stupid, innocent stares.

"And who exactly are you?" she asks carefully.

I can feel my face fall the tiniest bit. "Ashley." I toss my hair behind my shoulder, hoping my tone conveys my disbelief that she doesn't know who I am. I'm practically a part of Eric's entire existence. "Jeanine's assistant."

She smiles, unimpressed, or maybe just too stupid to connect the dots. "I think you can go ahead." She motions as a woman walks by us, and I hate her so much more after talking to her.

I glare at her, my anger burning in my veins so furiously that I could spit acid, before I walk away from her.

* * *

I watch them leave together, his hand on her lower back and his head tilted towards her. I can make out the freshness of his haircut, knowing exactly how soft the sides of his hair are, and I know just how much work it takes for him to keep it in place. I watch his form retreat, the broad span of his shoulders and his finely-tailored slacks.

I don't feel the panic until his hand moves off of her back and his fingers find hers. For a moment they brush against hers, nothing more than two coworkers accidentally bumping up against each other while walking. Until he slips his fingers between hers, pressing his palm flat with her own.

My stomach hurts so sharply in that moment, for Eric has never held my hand.

* * *

Jeanine officially announces their marriage during one of our meetings, and I have to try very hard to stay still.

She reads the email with much disdain, but she tries to sound pleasant. The marriage of a faction leader is a rather big deal. Not just because they'll probably be expected to produce the next wave of future leaders, but because Eric is now woefully distracted.

"I'll send a message of congratulations from all of us," Jeanine states.

I know what she's thinking. I've spent countless hours working beside her, watching her frantically email Eric in a progressively threatening manner. She never held back. It didn't matter what she wanted or needed, she wanted his answer right then and there.

But she can't control this, and her tight smile tells me she's already tried to think of a way with no success.

* * *

If Eric's marriage had thrown Jeanine off, it had messed with my mind on a whole other level.

Mostly because his wife's name is on the list I've typed up and forwarded to Jeanine.

I'd hesitated for the briefest of moments when I saw her name come across my report. My chest had tightened in some sort of odd manner, as though typing her name was wrong of me. Her percentage of Divergence was low, drastically so. Three percent was hardly enough to make her a traitor. It was far more likely that she had held onto some fondness for her friends or family that resided in Amity, and it had shown up as the tiniest blip during her aptitude test.

My fingers had hovered over the keyboard.

I could leave her off of it. Pretend I didn't see her results until after I'd sent it. But there's no point. Her name would eventually make its way to Jeanine, and I'd simply get reamed for not noticing it sooner.

Her last name is different on the aptitude test, but it's appropriately marked as Coulter on my list. It's written in bold lettering, noting that she's the spouse of someone important.

I stare at the last name on the paper, mentally saying it over and over. It isn't fair at all that she's married to him. I still don't quite believe it; in fact, a large part of me thinks it might be some sort of error. I keep waiting for him to email me with some rational explanation of why she was with him, but it doesn't come.

If I close my eyes I can still see him, his slate eyes flashing down at mine, and his mouth biting my bottom lip.

I type her name first on the list.

* * *

I look up Eric's marriage license and paperwork.

I know that it might look suspicious, and I don't even have a good reason for why I might possibly need the information. But I'm not deterred. After a few clicks, I turn off the security monitoring on my computer, and if Jeanine asks about that, I'll just say I was looking up something for her.

I type the generic username and password that lets me into the archive of census reports. I select a faction, my chest tightening as I click on Dauntless, and I type in his name.

 _Coulter, Eric_

His profile pops up within seconds. I scan past the photo of him looking like he's sneering at the camera, and I scan down the page quickly. I know most of his information by heart, and there's nothing too new that's been added to it. His age is listed, followed by his current residence and my stomach drops when her name is listed as his spouse. For a moment, it hurts too badly to look at it, and I hover the mouse over her name. The hyperlink lights up, and I try to decide if I want to read about her.

I click it.

It takes me to a whole new page, and I grimace when her face appears on my screen.

She looks pretty, happy even. The photo is not a standard leader photo, but was probably taken from one made for an ID badge or simply to be kept on file. Her hair is long and wavy, her bangs pushed to the side and her smile wide. She's dressed in some sort of sundress, but it's a dark one.

I read her profile carefully.

By the time I'm done, my head hurts. She's eighteen, a full six years younger than I am. She's also in their Leadership Apprentice Program, and that means I'll have to see her at every single meeting that's held. Eventually, she'll run the faction with Eric as though as they are some sort of picture perfect power couple.

I get to the bottom of the page and I screw my eyes shut.

He has everything he's ever wanted now, and I'm still sitting here, waiting for him.

* * *

His expression makes my chest hurt.

He's standing in front of Jeanine, his eyes downcast at the floor and his whole body screaming defeat. He's been here for three days, and today I can tell he's had enough.

"There's not a lot we can do now, Eric. We're wasting time and resources trying to find her." Jeanine pauses, her words slick and stern. "How do you know she didn't just run away?"

I can see the muscle in Eric's jaw twitch and his hands clench into fists. "She wouldn't just leave. She was in the middle of training a class," he snarls. I watch him jerk his head up to Jeanine, his stare now something lethal. "She's my wife, and she's missing, and I will find her."

Jeanine throws a look to me, and it's laced with disappointment. I know what she's thinking, that this is an opportunity, the best kind possible. The girl's gone missing, and there are few leads. I can feel the unease churning in my stomach now, wondering if Jeanine had some hand in this.

"You have work to do here," she reminds him crisply, her heels clacking as she walks away. "Let us not forget everything you've pledged your loyalty to. If you really insist upon having someone's company in your bed at night, we'll find you an adequate substitute when you return."

I catch him look at her sharply, and in that moment I know she's said the wrong thing.

The look on his face says he will kill her, kill all of us, if it means bringing his wife back home.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you to BK2U, not only for editing this, but for making sure Four didn't wind up nutso in this Outtake ;)

Four's POV

* * *

The night shift is my favorite because it's so quiet.

The control room is mostly empty at this time; tonight there are only three of us in here, and I could probably make do without either of them. I recline back in my chair, gazing at the row of monitors in front of me.

Working in the control room hadn't really been my first choice, but it's been an effective, subtle way for me to keep tabs on not just Dauntless but the other factions as well. It turns out I chose wisely; withdrawing from the alluring leadership position after discovering Eric's ideas about training were being well-received was the right thing for me to do. He and I would never have seen eye to eye; I didn't think I could stand to be around him and deal with his ulterior motives. Besides, taking the leadership position would have given me less freedom than I have now. I watch Eric slink from meeting to meeting, spending his days tapping away on a tablet, answering to the demands of others, and constantly being a well-known presence wherever he goes in Dauntless.

Despite his aloofness, his sneering dismissal of most members of our faction, he's easily accessible.

This is better.

I am able to watch all of the factions carefully, monitoring what I want. It also gives me an out, especially on nights like this when my chest feels uncomfortably tight after catching a glimpse of Tris walking along with Jeremy. I know that losing Tris was likely all my own doing; perhaps I had been too distant, too worn down to allow her to be close to me, too fearful of my own stark feelings for her.

I can't do anything about it now, but I can sit here, carefully keeping tabs on the rest of the city.

The man beside me coughs, something painful and deep, and he flicks his gaze to me.

"I'll be back. I'm gonna go grab some cough drops from the nurse."

I nod at him, not really minding.

* * *

Half an hour later, I've checked every single camera twice and there's nothing even remotely interesting going on. For once, everywhere is quiet, including my mother's factionless section.

It's been a bit more of a hassle to get out of the compound lately. Between training the newest batch of initiates and keeping tabs on Everly, I've had little time to slip out. No one really pays close attention to what I do, but I have the advantage of being able to erase my returns to Dauntless. Leaving has become even easier, now that I know I can set certain cameras not to record until future times.

Sometimes it's not worth it to go.

The anger is heavy in my stomach, and I find myself feeling guilty over it. My last visit with her had only fueled the fire. She'd refused to talk about anything more than the help she wanted from me, and it left me reeling. I can't push down all my anger much longer; the anger at her for leaving me, anger at myself for not being able to stand up to Marcus, and anger that my mother refuses to acknowledge any of her actions all combine together and threaten to consume me.

Tris was the only thing that had ever made me feel less guilty, but I swallow down that thought.

I click on camera five and I watch as it changes to a view of the chasm. It captures a bit of the hallway, the wide angle lens added after one too many drunken members tested their luck around the waterfall. I rub at my eyes, tiredly realizing I still have far too long to go before I can lie down and sleep.

My thoughts wander for a moment before I catch sight of Everly walking alongside Eric.

Well, she's less walking and more being ushered along the walkway. I try to bite down the bitter taste in my mouth. It's not that I feel anything for her. For a minute, I had thought maybe I could; but it wasn't the same as when I saw Tris. Sure, Everly is pretty. She is happy and sweet and almost half of my class spent a good deal of time staring at her whenever she happened to be near. But I never felt the same pull to her that I felt with Tris.

But Eric certainly did. I'd watched him worm his way close to her, the same manipulative way he'd wormed his way up through the ranks. The same ranks that had given him the seemingly unlimited power to do whatever he pleased. Max seemed oblivious to Eric's extracurricular activities. There were too many nights that I'd watched Eric leave Dauntless heavily armed and his face smug. I was there when he returned in the early morning, his hands dirtied and his lips curled into a smirk. He used the same cunning grin on Everly, letting his hands linger on her and his eyes follow after her as though he owned her.

I found it bothersome that no one else seemed to notice.

Since she'd arrived, he'd all but stopped leaving. No longer did he seem to be routinely heading out; in fact, he surprisingly spent all of his time with Everly. The first time I watched the two of them head back to his apartment, I had a crazed notion to ask Max to move her. It wasn't my place, but I wanted to bang my head against the wall when I first spotted her trailing after him one day, following him right into his living quarters and not stepping out until the next morning.

I still worry for her. The girl isn't really any safer with Eric than she would have been with my class, but I had tried. It's out of my hands now, and the best I can do is try to check in on her and make sure she's OK.

I eye Eric critically, watching his slightly fuzzy form hesitate in a predacious manner beside her before shoving her out of the frame.

"No." I say the word out loud, and the lone man beside me turns his head and blinks slowly.

"Section nine go out again?" He says the words slowly, bored out of his skull.

"I, uh, yeah. I got it, though." I flash him a distracted smile, and I quickly bang out a few other camera options. I need to find her, to see her, and make sure that he isn't about to kill her.

In a turn of events that I never expected, she and Eric seemed rather close lately. But it can only mean one thing: he is threatened by her. She's either doing poorly enough that he'll be shamed when she doesn't pass, or she's doing well enough that he thinks she could hurt him. I'd watched her fight against him, so I knew it had to be the latter. Eric likes to eliminate anything and anyone that poses a threat to him.

My stomach knots up and I try to stop my leg from bouncing. I click furiously now, trying to find a better view. I'm rewarded by the sight of the two of them, shoved up against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist and his mouth on hers.

Oh.

Ohhhh.

I can feel the blood rush to my face, and I try hard to keep my expression neutral.

"You figure it out?" the bored one calls out. He's examining the monitors with little interest. "Stupid crap keeps freezing tonight."

I click LOCK SCREEN and select FIVE so my companions won't be able to access this camera.

"Yeah, no biggie. Just something malfunctioning as usual." I try to sound casual, as though I'm not watching Eric aggressively perform mouth to mouth with his initiate. For a moment, I can feel the panic rising: maybe he's trapped her and she needs help. I glance at the control room door, making some mental calculations. I could make it there in six minutes if I leave now.

But judging by the way her hands reach around his neck, digging into his short hair, I can tell she's certainly not struggling.

I swallow when he reaches between them, and seconds later I can see him working his pants down his hips.

I close my eyes when he sets her down, and he moves his hand until his boxers slide down to reveal his legs.

"You okay there, Four? You look a little bothered." The man with the barking cough is back, and he slides into the chair a few seats down from me.

"I'm fine." My voice sounds almost normal, as though I haven't just witnessed the man who tried to kill me during our initiation undress in the middle of Dauntless. I watch his hips push into hers, the bare skin of his ass something I'd never really wanted to see again. I'd caught enough of it during our initiation; it seems that Eric's lack of modesty hasn't changed one bit.

"Okey dokey."

It seems to continue on for far too long.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I find my eyes sliding back to the screen. I feel like I should be disgusted with myself because I keep glancing back at the screen out of the corner of my eye, almost wishing I had a better angle, but I don't. I can barely make out Everly now, and I squint one eye shut in hopes of blurring Eric's form.

It's weird that Eric and Everly are both so open. Neither of them seem to be the least bit bothered that someone could walk by them at any moment. He's busy thrusting into her with the same wild abandon with which he does everything else, the same air of confidence that never leaves him.

He moves to the left a bit, adjusting Everly slightly, and I can make out the satisfied look on her face. She's definitely pretty; her hair is spilling over her shoulders and she's smiling at him. She looks content to be there with him, as though he's chosen her and he's pleased enough to show her off in the middle of the compound. Maybe that explains the delight behind his act; Eric's actions are enough to show his uncontrolled desire for her.

Maybe that's what all girls want.

I wonder if Tris would want this.

For a moment I freeze, trying to imagine Tris and myself out in the open, her hands in my hair and her legs around my waist. Her head tilted back and her eyes staring up at me.

It's not like I'm clueless when it comes to the opposite sex. I understand how it works, and it's not like I didn't try hard to make it the best I could for Tris. Those times with her, though they always felt greedy on my own part, were the only nights my life felt like it was actually worth something.

I wonder if Eric feels the same way.

I open my other eye and glance back at the screen.

They've moved, but my whole body tightens when I see that he's bent her over the railing, one hand on her waist and the other fisted in her hair. I push down the concern that burns through my mind. She could fall, obviously. I don't know how pleased Max will be if they have to fish her out of the water, her skirt shoved up around her waist. Eric could break her rib or something while he's busy slamming her against the metal rails. Someone could walk by and catch a glimpse of them, scarring another member for life.

While I'm sure there are some guys, and maybe even some girls, that wouldn't mind watching Eric bang some girl against the railing, it's not something I want to willingly watch. But it's hard not to.

I feel my whole body grow hot when I realize Everly is now thoroughly enjoying herself. I watch her arch back into him, her tiny body seeming to want him closer. I'm mildly impressed with how adventurous she is, and I idly wonder if all of Amity is like this. It's clear that she grew up with the idea that sex isn't considered the ultimate selfish act, that finding sexual satisfaction with one's partner isn't the least bit shameful. I watch her reach for him, and I can almost feel her longing for him to be even closer to her.

Eric looks at her in a weird way sometimes, one that tells everyone else to back off his initiate. Even now, he's made sure she's mostly covered, his much larger body obscuring her own. My thoughts are interrupted by the sounds of coughing again, and I take a sip of my water, trying to seem at ease.

I choke when Eric reaches forward and covers her mouth with his hand. The act seems aggressive, dominating in nature, but I soon realize he's making sure she's quiet.

It takes me a second to see the people milling below them. I can barely make out their heads on the lower level, but Eric has obviously spotted them. While I'm slightly relieved he's trying to keep her from giving away their position, I'm somewhat startled when I realize this isn't the first time they've done this. He holds her with a careful ease, as though he knows just how tightly he can hold onto her.

I watch his hand reach around and between her legs, and I turn to stare at the man next to me. He still looks bored, his eyes half-closed.

"If you, uh, don't feel good, you can always head out early. I'll cover for you." I'm probably staring at him a little too intensely, but I need a distraction. I can't watch Eric and Everly anymore. I'm not sure how I'll look either of them in the eye ever again, knowing that I've watched them share their very private moment rather publicly.

"Cool. I'm gonna take you up on that." He coughs again, and this time I am grateful when he stands up. "Thanks, man." I watch him log off his computer and stand to leave. I nod at him, and give him a half wave goodbye.

I turn my stare back to the screen, breathing a sigh of relief when I realize they're done. Eric's helping her smooth out the skirt of her dress, and then he quickly zips his own pants up. Even on the grainy footage he looks smug, his face obviously pleased with his little adventure.

My eyes widen and I swear softly when he looks directly at the camera, one eyebrow raised as if he knew it was there the whole time. And probably knew who would be on duty watching, too.

* * *

I bump into her in the hallway, and I immediately let loose a string of apologies, most of which I don't utter aloud.

I'm sorry.

So sorry.

Sorry that I watched you and Eric, shoved up against the wall.

So sorry that I watched him take you from behind, holding onto you tightly, as if you two were unable to wait until you made it back to his apartment.

I'm sorry that I sat there, my insides tight as I watched one of the leaders of Dauntless finish up his business while an entire group of my own initiates milled around a single floor below.

I'm sorry that the whole encounter keeps replaying in my mind, making me think things I've never really considered before.

At least I deleted the footage, triple checking to make sure every angle had been erased.

I finally meet her stare, her eyes meeting mine and she looks happy. Happy and well-rested, as though she and Eric had spent their night playing card games and gone to bed early. The sight of her brings a flood of embarrassment through me, as though I were the one who was so openly exposed.

"Everly." I mutter her name, and I can feel the tips of my ears turn pink. "I uh…yeah good to see you. Again. I'm uh a bit late. Goodnight." I shove myself past her, not bothering to listen for her reply.

I know she'll see them sooner or later.

The little red lights that are sort of hidden amongst the corners of Dauntless.

At least I hope she will.


	4. Chapter 4

This Outtake might be my favorite one so far.

It's got a tiny bit of insight into Eric's life before Dauntless, and a tiny bit of insight into the beast that is Blythe.

Many thanks to BK2U for editing this chapter and your help with fine tuning Daniel's thoughts.

:)

* * *

Eric walks away from the bowls without so much as a glance in our direction.

I sit beside my wife as she stiffly watches him, her face pinched in displeasure, even though his departure isn't unexpected. We'd known for some time now, long before there was even talk of his aptitude test, that he would choose another faction. It was predetermined; my wife's sister had made sure of it. She believed Eric was just what she needed to help her maintain complete order amongst the factions.

I watch my son walk away, his face turning smug and his shoulders thrown back. Arrogance runs strongly through Eric, but it's well-deserved. He's brilliant, cunning even. He knows that failure has never been an option. Even if something should go awry during training, he'll still be able to fall back on the promises of his aunt. She will stop at nothing to make sure that Eric becomes a leader in Dauntless.

I sigh, throwing a tight smile at Blythe as she keeps her stare trained on him.

He is our only son, and he's proven to be more than enough. Even as a small child, his presence threw a wrench into our plans. I'd often felt that we slighted him; we both hold positions that require an intense amount of attention, leaving little time for him. It hadn't gone unnoticed, either. He'd grown up with a rather cavalier attitude towards us, never really respecting our position as his parents. Blythe hadn't planned for Eric to be in her life, and she had had a rough time with him. He'd always been headstrong, beyond what one typically expects from a child, but I had found him to wonderfully challenging. He's fascinatingly stubborn and witty, wise beyond his teen years.

It's merely my opinion, but I find the choosing age to be miserably young. No one in their right mind can choose their entire future at such a flimsy age. Their brains aren't even finished developing yet; they lead with their emotions as they make their way towards adulthood. I could often see it in Eric; his neurons firing to make new synaptic connections and his brain pathways being refined as he sat, angrily chewing his dinner. His intelligence causes him to feel far superior, but the emotional side of him hasn't quite caught up. The conflict in his mind is startlingly visible as it is with anyone his age. I've seen it with the girls that traipsed after him. He knew what they wanted, but he was smart enough to manipulate the situations until he got the outcome he desired. They always caved, and he always won.

Always.

It was no wonder Jeanine wanted him.

I clap quietly, my palms almost itchy as he takes a seat amongst the sea of black. He's by no means small, and he fits in well with the city's soldiers.

I close my eyes for a moment, imagining him during their training. He'll easily smash the competition, mentally and physically. I catch Jeanine's eye from across the room, her stare tight and pleased. Her controlled temperament is well on display here. She sits perfectly straight, not allowing herself to relax at all. She's only here to make sure Eric chooses Dauntless, and she has the barest hint of a satisfied smirk on her face.

I watch my son cast his eyes in my direction one final time. They are cold and grey, and I'm not surprised when he doesn't look at his mother.

* * *

I get updates sporadically.

He's doing great; he's smart and fast, powerful and lethal. He's easily annihilated more than half the class, and he and a young man from Abnegation dominate the top of the rankings. I know it must make him furious to be ranked so closely with the Abnegation boy. He despises that faction as though he finds it personally offensive. Perhaps he does. They sacrifice their intelligence for their selflessness. It's an insult in Eric's mind.

On a Tuesday, after I've picked a man's skull apart to delve far into the soft tissue, I receive an email from Max. He and I are long acquainted; I'd helped his father after he'd developed early onset dementia. It was startling to see the once-powerful military commander stumbling around, unable to recall where he was. I'd found his brain fascinating, the smooth tissue revealing more than we could have ever hoped for. But Max isn't emailing me about that, he's emailing me to let me know that Eric will be ranked second.

I read the words a few times, wondering how Eric's handling that. Sometimes my stomach tightens when I think of him. He's been promised so much, given so much ammunition for his aunt's plans, that it's hard to remember he is still a young, impressionable boy.

The boy from Abnegation had managed to beat him during one of the final fights, and combined with his astounding fear simulation scores, had earned enough of an edge point-wise to slip past Eric.

Max wrote his congratulations beneath his words.

It doesn't matter; Eric has long been promised everything he could want. I'm certain a leadership position will be offered to him regardless of his second ranking, and he'll take it without a second thought.

* * *

The next time I see him, I barely recognize him.

Gone is the young boy that left Erudite, replaced by a self-assured man who doesn't know the word 'no'. I watch him walk through the hospital hallways with his head high and his shoulders back. His spine is pulled perfectly straight, and he seems to take up the whole hallway.

He's intimidating, not just because he's now heavily muscled and brutally strong. It's his personality, every ounce of softness sucked out of him to make him into a ruthless leader. He'd never had much to begin with, but this Eric is nothing more than a focused machine.

I push the chair back from my desk and stand, realizing he's walking right past my office without stopping.

It takes me a second to stop myself from following after him, knowing that it's been four long years since I've seen him, and I have almost nothing to say that he'll want to hear.

* * *

Jeanine is pleased with him up until he turns twenty-four.

Blythe keeps tabs on him as though she's waiting for him to fuck up, and at times it seems she truly is. I've watched her idly read her sister's updates on her tablet before bed. She tries to pretend they mean nothing, that she's simply staying informed because it would be unwise not to. But I know what she's doing.

This year is different. Eric has seemed bored, but it all comes to a halt when Jeanine informs us that the time has come for her to reap the benefits of her nephew being in the position he is in. I swallow down the ribs that I'm eating, feeling a sticky sharpness in my throat. For a long time, my sister-in-law had been nothing more than a mad scientist. She'd waxed crazy theories and ideas, utterly useless plans for world domination in a world that doesn't need them.

I'd mentioned to her, once, that she should be careful.

"Don't get too far ahead of yourself. You'll be your own downfall."

But Jeanine had looked at me as though she'd never heard anything more asinine in her life. Despite her obvious contempt for my words, they were true. Her mind worked at such a warp speed that she failed to consider whether her ideas actually had any merit. Most of them were rather nightmarish, but Blythe had warned me to keep quiet. Jeanine did not take kindly to anyone who dared question her.

"She'll take it out on Eric. You want to wake up and discover he's been assigned to be her next test subject?" I listen to my wife's words, wishing they held some sort of warmth in them. Over time, she's grown just as cold as her sister, and I know her concern does not lie with Eric. She simply doesn't want him to create a problem for her.

But Eric turns twenty-four, and suddenly he is storming around Erudite with a pissed off expression. He never comes by my office, and he only sees Blythe once.

It's easier this way.

* * *

It all falls apart when there's a girl, and I sigh into my coffee.

Of course it's a girl.

Even Eric, the heartless, ruthless man who I'd once watched beat answers out of a man that was found to be crossing Erudite, isn't immune to the biggest puzzle of them all.

Women.

He's been assigned to train some young girl, the lone female transfer, and it's eating up all his time and attention. Jeanine mentions it over breakfast; the girl is from Amity, and that seems to make it all the more offensive.

"There's nothing to gain by him training her. Let someone else deal with the little farm girl." She takes a long drink of her black coffee, and she exhales sharply. "He hasn't responded to my emails in three days." Her tone tells me she's growing weary of his lack of attention to her. She's never dealt with insubordination, especially from a family member. Everyone around her is too afraid to cross her, but Eric must have a good reason to have not contacted her.

I can see Blythe's spine straighten, and an ounce of sympathy flashes through me. It's not her fault, but Jeanine will find a way to make it seem so. Jeanine's words are carefully chosen; it's obvious that the reason she's asked us to breakfast is to push this into Blythe's mind.

"I'll call him later," I announce, reaching for the papers on the table. I rather enjoy reading about all the factions, and today is no exception. "Maybe the girl is hard to deal with."

Jeanine makes a tsking sound, one that tells me Eric should have his priorities straight.

"Call him now," Blythe snaps, pushing her eggs around her plate. "You'll get an answer out of him."

It's true. As of late, Eric's been slightly more receptive to me than to his mother, likely for no reason other than that I'd occasionally sided with him. Blythe had always expected so much from him, and while I had agreed most of the time, there was also an importance to blowing off steam. I'd pressed for him to have other activities besides studying, but Blythe had usually won out.

"After breakfast," I dismiss the two of them as I open up the paper. Jeanine doesn't bother me as much as she bothers Blythe. Her words are intimidating and so are her stares, but they're empty. Aside from my wife, she has no real support system. She can order everyone around based off the threat of harm, but it doesn't work on me. I'm actually surprised it works on Blythe.

The waitress drops off our bill, and I hand her my card before either woman can say anything else.

"What's the girl's name?" I ask, more curious than anything. I haven't heard from Eric in some time, but I'm wondering if his distractedness stems from her.

"Everly." Jeanine says the name curtly, and I make a mental note of it.

The rest of the breakfast slides by uneasily, a heavy tension in the air that no one is willing to acknowledge.

* * *

Eric finally calls sometime after seven.

I almost miss the call. I'm sitting in my study, poring over some notes from today. I meant to do this earlier, but my meetings ran over. I'm lucky that Blythe is eating dinner with a lady from her work; the night is quiet, and it gives me enough peace to work uninterrupted.

I jerk my head up when I hear the buzzing coming from the side of my computer, and I notice my phone is lit up. I catch his name across the screen, and I scramble to answer the phone.

"Eric," I greet him, moving some papers out of my way. "How are you?"

I idly cross a few things off my to-do list, noting I've made major progress since I've been home. I listen to him offer up a few bits of information. He mentions a few times that she's from Amity, and lets it slip that he hadn't really wanted to train her, but that Max had offered her up as a challenge. I can tell he's reluctantly proud that she's still there, and my attention sharpens when he says her name.

"Everly keeps falling asleep. She's asleep now."

It's unlike him to offer up any sort of information on anything, and I stop, realizing he's told me not only her name but that she's sleeping. There's the barest hint of concern in his voice, and I glance at the clock.

7:15.

"Does she normally go to bed early?" I keep my voice professional, nearly clinical. He's more likely to respond if I don't make this personal. For a moment, it works.

"No. But she's been falling asleep early lately. She might not have it in her to make it through the training." His words are cold and harsh, and I note the change in his voice. I can only imagine the rigorous training he's put her through. I've studied what I could about their initiation process. The intense physical and mental challenges seem rigorous, even for those born into the Dauntless faction. I try to picture this young girl attempting them.

"What does she look like?" I cock my head to the side, listening hard for Blythe. If she's home, I don't want her in here, furiously whispering in my ear. He'll know the minute the questions aren't mine.

"Why?" he snaps, and I can tell he's irritated. "Do you know her?"

"I don't. I'm only trying to get a visual here. I could just look her up," I answer him. I do have half a mind to look her up in the database. I wonder if she's ever been seen at any of the hospitals or medical centers. It would be easiest to look her up there first.

"She's small. She looks like she's from Amity. And she's always sleeping." He says the last part resentfully, and I wonder if he would prefer her awake. For someone that didn't want to train her, he is suspiciously invested in her well-being. "She has dark hair."

He offers up the last part on his own, and I hover my fingers over the mouse. I fight the urge to search for her.

"Maybe go easier on her. Maybe you're wearing her out." I offer the words up, even though I know they are meaningless. Mindless small talk to keep him on the phone. I want him to tell me more. He's obviously thought about her hair color enough for it to be mentionable.

"She's fine. But she won't survive here if she can't make it through the training. I just don't need her falling asleep on my couch every night."

I freeze at his last words, wondering if he's aware of what he just uttered out loud.

She's with him, on his couch. She must be staying with him in his apartment.

My brain works frantically, piecing together what I can from the minimal information he has provided. I can't think of any initiation process where the initiates stay with their trainers. Not to mention the fact that Eric leads the most militant faction of all. I doubt he's supposed to have her curled up on his couch, fast asleep.

"Is she eating enough?" I try to think of a reason she'd be that tired, other than him physically exhausting her. She could be consuming far too few calories, or she could have developed some sort of anemia. "Is she sleeping well? Sometimes sleep deprivation can cause …"

I don't finish because he interrupts me.

"I have to go. I need to finish some things before I go to bed." His words are clipped, and I nod even though he can't see me. I can tell he's done and I will get nothing more from him. Sometimes talking with him is less like talking to my own son and more like talking to a temperamental stranger. "And she's eating enough. I'm making sure of it."

"Alright. Well, take care, Eric. Keep me updated on her progress."

He's quiet for a long moment, and I can almost hear the mockery in the silence. I have no right to be kept up to date on what he's doing, and I certainly have no need to know about his trainee.

"Right. Goodnight."

He hangs up abruptly, and my fingers fly to my keyboard.

* * *

A few minutes later, and I'm torn.

I've found her in the Amity database. She's listed as being an in-process transfer to Dauntless, and the photo of her is recent, taken sometime before her aptitude test.

I examine the photo as though I'm looking at a patient profile. She's young, obviously just having transferred, and she's not what I would have expected. Her hair is very long and very dark. She doesn't quite look like she's from Amity, but there's a definite calmness about her that somehow comes through the photo.

She looks nothing like Ashley.

I squint at the photo, trying hard not to compare the two girls. I've known Ashley for some time now, and Everly appears to be the exact opposite of her. I'd always thought Ashley would find a way to end up with Eric. The girl was smart and crafty, and she was the only one Eric seemed to take the time to gift his attention to whenever he returned to Erudite. Ashley holds the same sort of presence he does, one that dares people to ask for an ounce of her interest.

This girl is much smaller, and almost too innocent-looking for Eric.

Everly is analogous to a lone flower in the middle of a battlefield, and I can't help but wonder if she'll last through his training. Even if she manages to pass the initiation, will she be strong enough to thrive there? There's also the concern that everything she's ever known is so different. She'll be forced to adapt to an environment that is the exact opposite of the one in which she grew up.

And all beneath Eric.

* * *

The updates come fewer and farther between.

Max is busy, Eric is busy, and Jeanine is busy. I try to ignore the lingering dread that seems to grow every time I see Jeanine. She seems to be retreating even further into her own mind, and I watch Blythe try to keep up with her.

On a Wednesday, Blythe stops by the hospital. I take a moment to stare at her, hovering in my doorway, her fingers grazing over the name plaque hanging on my wall. She's dressed up even more so than normal, and I don't doubt that she's seen her sister today.

"He likes her," she says distantly, her voice low. She's unimpressed at best, and her stare flicks over to me. "He's going to mess this up, you know."

"What will he mess up?" I turn my attention away from my laptop and the blinking emails in my inbox. I have much left to do before I leave today, but I won't get anything done if my wife is here. "Her training?"

"Forget about her training," Blythe all but sneers. "He's distracted by her. He's let her become his main focus, rather than what he agreed to work on."

"He's a grown man, Blythe. He wasn't even seventeen when he agreed to take the position. Priorities change." I lean back in my chair, crossing one leg over the other. I focus on my royal blue dress socks for a quiet moment. "You can't expect him to never feel anything for anyone. So he likes her. There's nothing wrong with that."

The thought has crossed my mind a few times. She isn't anyone I would have ever pictured Eric with, but maybe she appeals to him for reasons I can't grasp. Maybe he enjoys her because she is so unlike him. "Maybe he's happy with her."

It's the wrong thing to say. Blythe recoils, her face revealing her displeasure.

"She's a child. From Amity. If she wants to sit in a field and pick flowers, she doesn't need to drag Eric along with her." Blythe's words are pointed, and I feel them prick at my skin. I sigh, looking up at my wife. Everly is certainly no child, and I seriously doubt she has the power to convince Eric to head to a field in search of flowers. I bite back the words that she's chosen Dauntless, and that picking flowers isn't one of their typical activities: it's pointless to argue with Blythe.

"Did you eat lunch?" I ask her, attempting to change the subject.

She shakes her head and I stand up, pushing my chair back. "Care to accompany me to the cafeteria?" I give her a warm smile, hoping to distract her. Blythe isn't stupid, but she goes along with the idea, resigning herself when she realizes I'm not biting at her argument today.

"Alright."

I move to close out my computer, minimizing the dozen windows I have open. I hesitate over the last one when I see it's a message from Eric. I have to stop myself from checking it now; Blythe will only want to analyze it until she's blue in the face.

* * *

When Eric turns twenty-five, word comes that he's married the girl.

I stare at the email from Max. It's carefully worded, and if I read between the lines, it tells me that this decision is very much Eric's and there is little anyone could do about it. He ends it by offering his congratulations, and he tells me that I'm lucky to have such a sweet girl for a daughter-in-law.

My phone rings before I finish reading it, and I don't have to look to know it's Blythe.

* * *

I straighten the tie around my neck, ignoring the fact that it feels like a noose at this moment. It's fancier-looking than what I'd typically wear, but it accents the dining jacket Blythe's laid out for me. I tighten it, taking more time than necessary to get ready.

The jacket goes on next, and I examine myself in the mirror, trying to mentally predict how this dinner will go. I've already made up my mind to try to remain at ease; this won't go well if either Eric or Everly feels attacked, and I know Blythe is already on the defensive. For someone who spends most of her time analyzing the emotions of others, she's rather poor at figuring out her own son.

"Are you ready?" She comes up to stand beside me, and I realize she's dressed up even more than when she meets with Jeanine. Her hair is perfectly smooth, with no trace of the slightly wavy pieces that she shares with Eric. She looks unapproachable, even more so tonight.

I nod at her, and I can only hope that she manages to be civil.

She throws a stern look in the mirror, and my stomach sinks, knowing without a doubt that this will not go well.

Everly doesn't stand a chance.

* * *

We're rather early, but it gives me time to scope out the room. For a moment I'm glad we're overly punctual: I'll be able to catch a glimpse of her before she sees us. It's an unfair advantage, but so far I've managed to resist digging up anything else on her.

I see them before Blythe does.

They walk in together and I'm taken aback to discover Eric's almost smiling. In fact, he looks at her as though she's the only thing in the room.

It doesn't take but a few seconds for me to be sure that his decision to marry her was his and his alone. Eric stares at her, his expression softer than anything I've ever seen on him. It isn't a full-blown, obvious display of affection, but it's a far cry from the irritated glare he normally sports.

I can tell she's happy, her head tilted towards him. Judging by the way she stays close to him, both of her hands gripping his much larger one, it's clear that they have been close for a while. I've never seen Eric openly affectionate, but his grip on her hand is tight. He walks with his shoulders straight and his eyes fixed on her. It's clear that he's proud of her, his tiny wife who looks positively thrilled to be here. She's beaming at us, her eyes finding us waiting for them, and I half-expect her to wave.

It makes it feel all the worse when Blythe opens her mouth, and I watch any chance of getting to know Everly slip away.

* * *

I email him nine times, and I call him six times before he crankily answers the phone.

"I think I'm good on dinners for now." His words have a nastiness to them, and I don't blame him. Blythe had made her point loud and clear. She would never accept that he had been the one to prosecute Jeanine, she would never accept that he had been the one perform her execution even though she had been found guilty of some truly terrible things. She would never accept his marriage, and she would certainly never accept his wife.

Her words had been sharp enough that the poor girl had looked startled, her large eyes wide as Blythe tore into her.

Eric hangs up rather shortly after he answers, and the request to not call him again, though unspoken, is loud and clear.

So I don't call.

I give him some time, enough for him to calm down.

I kiss Blythe goodbye on her cheek, and I arrange for a car to pick me up at work, a few hours earlier than I'd normally leave.

It won't take me long to get to Dauntless, and with any luck I'll find Eric by dinner time.

* * *

The Dauntless guards wave me through automatically. It's no surprise, given that I wave an Erudite badge at them that boasts a medical clearance. It grants me access to the medical centers in every faction. I make a note to stop by and say hello to Arlene before I leave. It'll serve to validate my visit, and it'll be good to see her again.

I know the route I need to take, and I walk with purpose. Lazily strolling through Dauntless will draw unnecessary attention to myself. Someone from Erudite nosing around would immediately be considered suspect, especially after Jeanine's fiasco.

It's unfortunate for me.

Dauntless is architecturally interesting: huge, with marbled walls and cavernous hallways. I'd like to take my time and inspect some of the features, but I press onwards until I'm at the center of the compound. I patiently wait after pushing the elevator call button, and I smile idly as a few members pass by without comment.

The elevator doors slide open, and to my surprise and delight, I find Eric's wife standing there.

I smile at her, pleased that I've nearly walked right into one of the two people I came to see. Her eyes seem to widen at the sight of me, and for a moment she looks panicked. I'm sure she's waiting for Blythe to pop out from behind me, ready to attack.

I hold my palms up to her as I take a step into the elevator, and she gives me a polite smile. I want to tell her it's just me, that I have nothing cruel or hurtful to say to her, but it feels like a betrayal of Blythe. I want to tell Everly that my wife's rudeness wasn't about her. In truth, any woman chosen by Eric would have suffered the same awful treatment, simply because she would be a distraction from his meticulously programmed path.

"Hello, Everly," I greet her gently, not wanting her to bolt. I don't think she's afraid of me, but I know she can't be thrilled to see me. Either way, she looks like she's trapped.

"Hello," she answers me carefully, stepping aside as though she might step out of the elevator. I'm pleased when she doesn't.

"What floor are you headed to?" I reach for the buttons, ready to push number nine. I watch as she hesitates a bit, and I don't blame her. I know Eric is still working. I had planned on stopping by his apartment and seeing if she was there. If she had seemed too uneasy, I would have simply made my way to his office. I really don't want to make this uncomfortable for her.

She's looking at me with her large eyes, and I can tell why Eric likes her. Her whole attention is focused on me, and I can almost imagine the way she must stare up at Eric.

"I'm headed to see Eric. I know he's off work soon, so I had thought I'd drop by his apartment on my way home," I tell her.

She contemplates for a brief moment before she speaks. "I'm headed home."

I nod my head and push the button for the ninth floor. I've heard that she and Eric have been sharing his apartment for some time now. It's clear that their relationship isn't something brand new.

"Does your wife know you're here?" I turn my head at her words. She's asked them quietly, and very tensely. I can only imagine what she's thinking.

"No," I grin at her. "She does not."

"Oh, good." The relief in her voice is obvious, and her whole body relaxes.

I trail after her to the apartment, wondering if Eric enjoys sharing his living space. He certainly likes Everly, enough to have married her, but he's always been one to seek out the quiet. I wonder if he tolerates her presence very well, or if she's just unusually quiet.

I step through their doorway and glance around.

This isn't the first time I've been here. Eric never had to live in any of the lower level apartments, he'd immediately been moved into one of the apartments assigned to a leader after his initiation. I've always been rather unimpressed with most of the living spaces in Dauntless; they're typically dark and ancient, full of mismatched furniture and odds and ends thrown together from the markets. But Eric's apartment is an obvious exception. His is well thought out; he selected his furniture very carefully, and it seems more suited for a faction — any faction — other than Dauntless.

His walls are lined with bookshelves, neatly filled with all sorts of titles. If anyone were to ever wander through here, they'd immediately notice the lingering Erudite presence. I glance at his couch, noting there's a dark grey blanket on it, and his laptop sits atop the coffee table. I try to picture the two of them sitting on his couch together, maybe discussing something while Eric works.

Maybe he does like having her here.

"Would you like something to drink?" My none-too-subtle inspection is interrupted. I find her standing near the kitchen, a funny look on her face.

"Sure. Whatever you've got will be fine." I smile at her, trying to think of a way to lower her defenses. That's a little more Blythe's area of expertise; it's a shame she chose to attack the poor girl instead.

Before I can exchange more than a few words with her, I start receiving texts I must answer, and then my phone rings. I take the call only because it's my surgical assistant; he wouldn't contact me unless it were urgent. When I answer, he sounds worried.

Nearly twenty minutes later, I'm still on the phone. Everly is fumbling around in the kitchen, and there's a certain sweetness to her, though she looks uneasy. It's apparent from watching her attempt to cook that she doesn't do it often. She's scowling at the boiling water in front of her. I would love to stay and observe, but Greg starts asking me about Blythe, and I stand up quickly. He's well aware of how the dinner went, but I feel rude talking about it in front of Everly.

"I'll be right back," I tell her. I head towards the first door I see, amusement flooding through me when I realize it's their bedroom. I scan the room while trying to answer Greg.

"I'm hoping she'll calm down a little," I tell him. My eyes fall to their bed and I feel slightly voyeuristic. It's neatly made with far too many pillows. Her nightstand has all kinds of things I would imagine she would have; a hairbrush, some loose ponytail holders, lotion, and a small vase with some flowers in it. Eric's side is starker. There's nothing but a lamp and his phone charger.

I try to finish up my call quickly. I don't want to be in here when Eric returns home; the last thing I want him to think is that I was sent to snoop through his personal space.

"Thank you. We'll be in touch."

I bid Greg farewell, and I step out through the bedroom door just in time to catch of glimpse of them together.

At dinner there had been no obnoxious displays of affection from either of them. I'd watched her hold his hand and I'd seen him gaze at her, but it had stopped there. They hadn't had the time for anything more: Blythe had sunk her claws in before they'd even had a chance to relax.

In their own element, things are different.

She's backed up against the counter, her hands in his hair as he kisses her. I almost can't see her; Eric dwarfs her in every way, but she doesn't seem to mind. He breaks apart from her the minute he hears my voice, and he turns to me, an accusatory stare on his face.

* * *

Eric watches me eat dinner as though he hopes I might choke on a forkful of pasta.

I ignore his intense glare. I'm well aware that I've encroached on his territory, and that my arrival was unannounced. I want to tell him this is partially his fault, that had he simply agreed to meet again we could have planned something without my having to resort to a surprise visit, but I don't. Instead, I focus on getting to know his wife.

"So, Everly. You're working on completing your leadership program?" I ask her while she's taking a sip of her drink, and I catch the way her eyes flash to Eric first. I can tell she wants to answer me, badly. She's loosened up a little bit since I've been here, perhaps realizing I'm not going to attack her. It makes my stomach turn, the thought that she would fear either of us.

"I am. Right now I'm helping with the newest training class. It feels really good to be back with the initiates," she tells me enthusiastically. I can tell she's proud of what she's doing, and indeed it is quite the accomplishment. The girl from Amity had survived initiation and was now teaching one of the classes. It said a lot about Eric's training, as well as a lot about her.

Eric throws her a nasty look. I get the sudden impression he'd rather she not train the class. I wonder if he prefers she stay here, spending her days waiting for him to return.

"It got pushed back a bit while I was gone, but they're doing really well now," Everly tells me. She's looking at me inquisitively, perhaps wondering if I know what she's alluding to, and I smile at her sympathetically. I'd been given most of the details of what had happened to the poor girl, and my heart had sunk at the news; Blythe, however, had done a terrible job of concealing her hope that Everly might never return. Now, sitting beside me at their dining room table, it's very clear that Everly possesses great strength and resolve, pushing past those terrible events and moving forward with her life.

It's impressive that she's jumped right back into training the class. "I think that's fantastic. There's something about helping shape the minds of your future members that's very fulfilling."

Eric makes a grunting sound.

"Thank you," Everly says, sounding pleased. "I agree."

We eat silently for a moment before Eric takes a very large drink of whatever he's poured into his glass. I want to ask him where he acquired such a fancy palate. The liquid in his glass is dark and strong, and undoubtedly numbing his urge to have me escorted out of Dauntless.

I wish he'd had a little more.

"Why are you here again?"

I ignore the snap in his voice and decide I should verbalize the reason for my visit.

"I wanted to apologize for your mother. I know dinner did not go very well," I pause, and a feeling of guilt flares up through me. I wish I could have warned the two of them. "I thought maybe the three of us could have a few dinners together. Get to know each other."

My intentions are pretty pure. I've spent my whole life trying to find a way to connect with my son. He's managed to keep everyone at arm's distance from him, everyone except for this girl. Everly might be the only person who actually knows Eric.

It doesn't bother me so much as it brings me a sense of relief. He's managed to find someone special, someone who understands him, and I'm determined to get to know her.

Plus, I've never had a daughter before.

Everly is beaming at me, and I feel a rush of warmth for the girl. If I were more manipulative, I'd tuck away this note that she seems to thrive off the lure of family relationships. It's no doubt that she and Eric have their own intense relationship, but I can tell she likes the idea of getting to know me.

"I think that's a really good idea," she announces, smiling brightly at us.

I watch Eric's face darken, and he shakes his head.

"It's not really." He leans back in his chair, and he tightens his jaw. "I don't really need you here as a spy for Blythe."

His words are not unexpected, and I can't really blame him. Shaking my head at him, I say, "You know that's not why I'm here."

"It's exactly why you're here," Eric snaps. I can tell I'm losing ground quickly. It's not that he was overly open before, but he's shutting down rapidly now. "You can't tell me she's not going to grill you the minute you walk in the door. I told you to leave us alone."

I stay still, trying not to provoke him further. "Eric," I pause and sigh. "I'm not your mother. I'm not here to gather any sort of information. I just want to know my daughter-in-law."

He says nothing. He looks downright irritated, his whole face pulled taut.

"You didn't invite us to the wedding. I'd like a chance to at least celebrate with you two." I take a drink of my coffee, trying to stall for a bit of time. "Or, at the very least, I'll meet Everly for lunch now and then. You've had her all to yourself for some time now."

"We didn't really have a wedding that anyone would have been able to attend. I certainly think we could do dinner." Everly is talking to Eric now, her voice sweet-sounding and her stare affectionate. I watch as Eric seems to grit his teeth, and I can see that he has a hard time telling her no.

I would bet he doesn't enjoy that feeling very much.

There's a long pause and Eric slouches in his chair, his fingers toying with the glass in front of him.

He finally sighs, his cold gaze falling to the dark liquid in his glass. "Fine. Two dinners." He says the words crankily and relief washes over me. With Eric, there is always the chance he'll tell me to never return here again, and I know he'd follow through with the threat.

Everly grins at me, looking downright delighted now.

I make the snap decision to not tell Blythe.

* * *

Two days later, I realize not telling my wife might be worse than telling her.

So many times the words almost slip past my lips. I want to share with her the story of my dinner with them, share all of my observations about Eric, that he'd actually seemed happy for once, that he'd agreed to see me again, that I'd watched him reach for Everly as the door shut, pulling her against him and turning to let his head fall towards hers.

But I don't.

I know it won't mean a single thing to her and will only set her off.

She makes a snide comment when Erudite comes a step closer to finding candidates to become our new leader. Something along the lines of 'why don't we just let someone with their head in the clouds run all the factions', and I cringe slightly. I know she's referencing the fact that Everly will one day become a leader in Dauntless. I want to tell her that Everly's head is far from being in the clouds. In fact, Everly might be smarter than anyone has ever given her credit for.

After all, she's managed to figure out Eric.

So I slip past Blythe, keeping my mouth shut and smiling tightly at her.

* * *

I call Eric later that day.

He answers on the second ring, and for once he doesn't sound quite as pissed off as normal. In fact, he almost sounds bored.

"Everly's at dinner with Tris. Otherwise, I'm sure she'd want to say hello." He says the words offhandedly, and I can't help but relish the moments like this where he offers up information on his own. I suggest we meet for dinner sometime next week, and I feel uneasy when he doesn't respond for a moment.

"We have the Leadership Dinner next weekend."

I don't know if that means that the rest of next week is out, but I don't press any further. "Alright. Well, let me know if you have time during the following week."

I can't help the burn of disappointment that I feel, but I don't say much more. Blythe has walked through the door, a handful of papers in her hand and her mouth pressed into a fine line.

"Maybe…maybe Thursday next week." Eric throws out the day unexpectedly, and I'd half-expected him to have hung up. "I know she's looking forward to seeing you again."

The implication is there; it's more Everly that's driven him to agree to dinner. But I'll take it.

"Sure. Just let me know."

Blythe throws me a curious look and I mouth the word "Greg" at her. She rolls her eyes, and waves dismissively. I use her departure to my advantage; I chat with Eric for a few moments longer, making sure to keep the conversation neutral and letting him lead it. By the time we hang up, I've learnt that he's made toast for dinner and he seems to not enjoy Everly being gone.

He says goodbye roughly, hanging up before I can say anything else.

I toss my phone onto my desk, and I sit down at my laptop to schedule a fake appointment with Greg. It'll be more convincing to Blythe if she decides to look through my calendar. Before I can confirm my event on Thursday, my phone dings with an email notification.

I open it and see it's from Max, and I quickly read through the lengthy message, a smile crossing my face.

I confirm my appointment for Thursday.

* * *

On Friday, I stitch an Amity man's scalp back together after performing a craniotomy to remove a small, benign tumor. As I close, I take an indulgent moment to admire the neatness of my work. I then step back to allow the assistant surgical team to finish the remaining tasks; they'll clean and dress the patient's scalp wounds and begin the process of waking him up, injecting a mixture of painkillers, anti-nausea medication, and, in keeping with Amity protocols, peace serum. Peace serum is actually a good idea post-operatively, one I'd recommend for most of my patients if Erudite would allow it. This patient will be more relaxed, less stressed upon regaining consciousness, and ultimately far calmer than most patients who have just had their skull opened up, making recovery a smoother process for all involved.

My stare falls to the syringe in my assistant's hand, the serum dosage carefully titrated to be effective without causing any unnecessary drug interactions. Amity insists that their patients receive a sufficient amount to keep them calm, but the exact amount is left to our discretion. We have to ensure our patients are out of bed and on their way to recovery as quickly as possible, which would be difficult if they were given too much of the serum.

My assistant injects the serum into the bag attached to the patient's IV, and I watch carefully as the solution easily dissolves into the mixture. The man will not be aware that he's been given peace serum, of course, but he ought to feel pretty much the same as he would if he were back in Amity.

I hesitate for a second, an idea suddenly flashing in my mind. I watch the assistant set the syringe aside and nod at me.

It's all that I need to solidify my decision.

* * *

An hour after my patient has been safely transported to the recovery room, I sign out one of the vials of peace serum, clearly assigning it to the patient's name. Only a very small dose will actually go home with him, enough to bridge the small gap until he's able to eat and drink regularly in Amity. His wife will be instructed on how to mix it in with the liquid pain medication being prescribed for him, and she will receive the rest of his medications as the patient is discharged to continue recovering at home.

I carefully separate the serum into two vials, pocketing one as I make my way towards the recovery room. The man's wife is standing outside the door waiting for me to update her, and she smiles as I arrive, seemingly prepared to do whatever it takes to help her husband recover.

I smile back. I'm about to spend the next half an hour with her, giving her careful instructions on what to expect during the recovery period and answering all of her questions. After this, I'll be done for the day. I'll head home, eat dinner with my wife, and go to bed, well-prepared for tomorrow. Blythe won't notice when I take my coat upstairs tonight, and she certainly won't bat an eye when I make her coffee tomorrow afternoon.

Perfect.


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you SO much to **BK2U** for your extreme patience while dealing with this chapter.

This outtake is SUPER long, but it's definitely an interesting read.

Thanks for all your kind words and patience ;)

* * *

She jumps first.

It's an unusually warm day when I catch sight of her with her friends. It's clear they've spent the better part of their day lounging around the lake, sunning themselves until they couldn't stand it anymore. The heat has driven them to perch on the edge of a cluster of large, flat rocks, debating on who should jump into the water first. Despite the heat, the water is still cold, but they don't seem concerned.

Her friends shriek and laugh, each one trying to work up the courage to jump. The rocks jut out fairly far, giving way to the deepest part of the lake. The girls giggle in unison. They all have the same look to them: long, tangled hair; tanned skin; and a peace that can only come from growing up amongst nature. They look at home here, swimming in the cool waters that only Amity enjoys, and I smile at their carefree, happy expressions.

I hear them say her name, and she grins.

A second later, Everly jumps easily, leaping off the rocks without an ounce of trepidation. I blink, and she's vanished beneath the dark waters.

* * *

I find them nearly skipping towards the Dome for dinner. It's late in the summer now, and while the days are still hot, the nights are just starting to cool. The girls look as though they've come from swimming again; their skin looks golden and their hair is still damp. They look alive; happy and bubbling with energy despite their days spent in the sun.

She turns to one of her friends, the blonde one who's never not by her side, and she smiles widely. I hear them whisper about someone, just a name giggled between girlfriends, and Everly's cheeks turn pink.

It's my name she says, and I laugh to myself. She's 15, only a couple of years younger than me, but we've spent our entire lives in the same faction and I know who she is. It would be hard not to know the Carlens. Everly's mother has helped me several times, even managing to cure my insomnia with one of her teas. I've seen Everly around the house a few times, but she looks different now.

I try not to stare at her through dinner, but every so often I catch her staring at me. She doesn't exactly break our eye contact, though; I get a small thrill of excitement when I realize she's braver than most of the girls here. By the time the dinner is over we've locked eyes for more than half our meal, and it feels like there's a spark running through my veins.

* * *

I bring her flowers on a Friday.

I pick them after my shift in the fields, each one reminding me of her — bright and sunny, wild and free. I clutch them in my hand, and every time I look down at them I smile. I head towards her mother's house. Eden is outside with a few of the younger children, and they are playing in the grass. Eden smiles and waves, but I don't pay too much attention to her.

Everly is standing on the porch; her eyes are wide and soft, and she's beaming at me.

* * *

Everly is sweet, but I soon learn she is far feistier than anyone else in Amity.

Our relationship starts slowly; dates in the fields at sundown, walks under the moonlight, kisses stolen on her parent's porch. It builds speed quickly, and before long, not a day goes by where I'm not with her. It never feels like enough time with her; the hours slip by far too quickly and the days blur together while I try to memorize each and every second.

It's nearly impossible.

I try to slow her down, because Everly moves at warp speed. She turns sixteen, and a few months later I find her pulling my shirt off over my head and pulling me back towards her. Everly is everything I could ever want, and I have let myself fall head over heels for her gentle smile and bright eyes.

I move to hover over her, brushing her dark hair off of her face and kissing her gently. She doesn't deserve anything rushed or hurried, and I take my time kissing my way down her neck. Everly sighs my name, and it sounds sweeter than anything I have ever heard.

I rise up and help her pull off her pale pink top. Her skin is the same sun-kissed golden shade that everyone in Amity seems to share, and she wiggles out of her long, brown skirt to reveal tanned legs. She looks otherworldly against my sheets, especially now that she's completely naked in front of me.

"I love you," I tell her, covering her body with my own. Her skin is soft and warm, and she smells like a field of wildflowers and something impossibly sweet. She doesn't say anything, because she's biting at her lip and reaching for my hair. Her fingers tangle through it, and I suddenly wish I'd bothered to comb it today.

"Landon." She says my name breathily, pulling my mouth down to hers.

This isn't the way I'd planned this out in my head, but in this moment, it seems right. I make sure I'm as gentle as possible, kissing her over and over until I can think of nothing but being with her.

"Are you sure?" I ask her, giving her a graceful moment to bow out or stop me, but she just grins at me and shoves her hips into mine.

"Yes," she tells me, beaming up at me. "I'm sure, Landon."

I let my hands trail over her body, feeling her soft skin and the way she reacts. I move slowly, wanting to focus on nothing but her, but I can only wait so long. I nudge her legs apart, noting the way she tenses up the slightest bit, and she seeks out my gaze.

I want to say something to reassure her, but I don't know what to tell her. Everly isn't blissfully stoned on peace serum, and she knows this will hurt for a moment. I take a second to touch her cheek. It isn't much longer before I push myself inside of her, and she lets out a slight cry. I come to a stop, clenching my teeth together, trying to ignore the sensation. Everly is far too tight, and wet and slick; there's something oddly satisfying knowing I'm the first man she's ever shared this experience with.

She nods after a moment, urging me on. As my hips rock against hers, I try to memorize the moment, cataloguing every single sigh and whimper, every soft groan and whisper of my name. Everything is over far too quickly for either of us; I come before I'd like to, but I groan her name into her neck and her nails dig into my skin.

I kiss her forehead, and she holds onto me tightly.

* * *

I often think of our first time together, especially on a night when I bring her down to one of the hayfields, unable to keep my hands off her even after spending nearly all my nights with her. She's still sweetly fumbling at times, still blissfully enthusiastic and genuinely pleased to be with me. She responds easily, gently touching my hair and kissing me furiously. Our night under the stars is short-lived, but so romantic that it's worth it, despite the itchy bug bites that cover my body.

We walk back towards the community, hand in hand, helping pull stray pieces of grass out of each other's tangled hair.

* * *

I don't have many reasons to think she'd leave, but sometimes it crosses my mind.

On a cool fall day, we walk through the groves holding hands, and I know Everly's mind is focused well away from Amity. I can tell by the way she's gazing out far ahead, her head slightly tilted as she listens to something I can't hear.

"Everything okay?" I ask her, tightening my grip on her hand. It's a common thing lately; I find myself holding onto her, anchoring myself in her whirlwind of a life. How she's managed to create such a feeling in the slowest, most serene faction is beyond me.

Everly nods her head and smiles. "Do you ever wonder what the people in the other factions are doing? Do you think that right now there's a girl and her boyfriend walking through the streets of Candor or Erudite, staring at the same sunset that we are?'

I haven't; I shake my head and ignore the hair that falls into my eyes, and I wonder how often she thinks of such things.

"I bet there is. There has to be a lot out there that we don't know about, Landon."

She goes quiet after she says my name, and I wonder what would ever make her think about the other factions.

* * *

For the most part, Everly and I have always gotten along well. There is not much we disagree about, and there's an easiness that comes from being with her. It changes when the weather turns. It's like there's a sudden itchiness to her, like she can't stay still or she can't just relax for a second. Her edginess means I find myself apologizing more, trying to stay peacefully aware of her feelings. It works up to a point. There is a day that comes when Everly think she's right, and she just won't let it go. Sometimes she is right, but sometimes she isn't. She's always been very sure of herself, and this fight tells me exactly that.

Just when I think our fight will never end — over the idea that other factions might be superior or more alluring than Amity — she suddenly stops her argument, realizing that I'm not backing down.

She looks at me with her large eyes, and she looks resigned. "I'm sorry, Landon. I shouldn't have assumed anything. It's not fair of me." She bites her lip for a second before her worried stare finds me. "Can you forgive me?" Suddenly, it doesn't matter what we have been arguing about. In this moment my heart soars, for she has never been more Amity-like. I want to tell her it doesn't matter, I'll stay beside her as long as she wants, apology or no apology.

"Of course," I tell her, and the relief is overwhelming.

Everything is normal again for the next few months. Everly stays close to me, her fingers through mine as we walk and her smile only for me. It doesn't always reach her eyes, and I slowly realize I've done this to her. She knows what I want from her, and it's unsettling.

I want her to be quiet. I want her to be docile and compliant, yielding to the Amity way of life. It isn't her, and every day I see it just a little bit more.

* * *

I wake up with a sense of dread on Monday.

There's no particular reason, and I spend the day trying to shrug off the feeling. It doesn't work; the feeling looms over me while I work in the fields, toiling away under the sunshine. A few people ask me if I'm alright, and I nod, not wanting to make anyone uneasy.

"Just a rough night's sleep, I guess," I tell Ben, and I shove my hair out of my face. Ben nods at me, his face concerned.

"You should stop by and see Eden on your lunch. See if she can fix you up something for tonight. She could probably work her magic on you."

Ben is nothing but kind, and he hands me the bottle of water he's brought along with him. I take it, thanking him, and I try to push all thoughts of the Carlens out of my mind.

* * *

I know it's coming the moment I see Everly waiting for me.

Her normally cheerful demeanor is gone, and she looks uneasy. Her fingers twist together, but when she sees me, she suddenly straightens her spine and looks directly at me. She half-smiles, her pretty face looking conflicted.

"Can we talk for a second?" she asks me, and I nod my head.

"Everything alright?" I ask her, and for the first time since I've known her, Everly doesn't meet my eyes.

"I'm sorry, Landon." She peers up at me, pretty eyes beneath dark hair, and I feel a small burst of anger. Like I should maybe stop her from talking, grasp her tightly and shake some sense into her. I know what she's about to say and I don't want to hear it.

So I tune her out until the very end.

"I just want some space. Just a chance to be on my own."

I don't answer her. I just nod my head and shove past her, headed anywhere but near her.

* * *

The day Everly takes her aptitude test is gloomy and cold. It matches the mood that's trying to break through the warm buzz of the peace serum. I can feel the internal struggle raging on; part of me wants to sit around and mope, and the other part of me knows that isn't acceptable.

I eat breakfast with Everly, and her eyes have an excitement behind them that I wish were there every day. She's suddenly incapable of sitting still, and she looks more determined than ever.

"I can't wait to find out," she tells me, and I shake my head at her, taking a large bite of toast. The bread feels dry in my mouth, gritty as I try to swallow it. Things have been better between us. Sometimes I feel like there's a flicker of hope; Everly will smile at me, sweet and happy, and I'm sucked right back into her. I keep waiting patiently, knowing eventually she'll realize she misses what we had.

"Do you think you'll receive something other than Amity?" I ask her. I try to keep my voice level, not betraying the nervousness that runs through me. I've been thinking about this more and more, watching her carefully. I've been looking for a sign, something to prove to me that I'm wrong, that Everly belongs here with me.

So far there hasn't been one.

While Everly is kind and patient, she is also ambitious and daring. Those two traits aren't typical in Amity.

"Maybe. I've been thinking…" Her words trail off when Johanna walks by, her patient gaze falling over us. Everly smiles up at her, and Johanna touches her shoulder gently. I hear her offer her luck to Everly, telling her she wishes her well. Johanna's eyes fall on me, flashing for a surprised second with what looks like sympathy.

I try to swallow.

Johanna wanders off to offer up words of comfort to a girl a few tables away. I wait for Everly to resume her conversation, but she doesn't. She never gets the chance, because Sophia and Courtney sit down at our table, their breakfasts in hand.

"Are you nervous?" Courtney asks her, sliding into the seat right beside Everly. They are all the same age, and I've come to know them well. Sophia is the most skittish of the three girls, and Courtney is the most enthusiastic. Both of her friends are Amity through and through. It's Everly who seems like there's something more to her, like she's not meant to sit here and watch the sunsets.

"Nope," Everly announces, and she smiles sweetly at me.

I smile back, knowing it looks as forced as it feels. The three of them talk the entire breakfast, and pretty soon they're being rounded up to head to school to take their tests. Everly throws me one final grin, waving as she walks along with her friends.

I try not to think about her all morning, but every single thing in Amity reminds me of her.

* * *

She doesn't meet my eyes.

I've been feeling her slipping away these last few months, ever since our intimate relationship ended, each day just a little bit more. It hurts, more than I would have liked to admit or expected to feel. There is beauty in the dull pain, I suppose. To have known her so well, to have been so close to her that it felt like my whole world cracked apart when she gently told me she was leaving and going to Dauntless.

"Don't tell anyone, okay?" she asks me earnestly, finally looking up at me, and in that moment she looks far more stunning than I can ever remember. Her face is lit up, alive with excitement. I'm reluctant to agree, even though it doesn't matter anymore.

"It's what's best for everyone. I don't want to cause any unnecessary drama before the Choosing Ceremony."

Her words make my stomach clench and I turn my stare to the side of her. She's asked me to stay silent, to maintain a façade that everything is wonderfully fine and blissful. It's very Amity of her, more than she'll ever know.

I exhale sharply. I want to ask her when she'd grown tired of all of this, tired of feeling only pleasant emotions, with just small dull pinches of discomfort here and there. I wonder when she first felt the urge to leave, to break free of the only life she's ever known.

In the end it isn't my decision, and I know I'm powerless to stop her.

So I nod my hushed agreement, and I turn away before I can hear her thanks.

* * *

It's hard to keep my mouth shut.

It's horrifically unfair, and while I don't see the reason why this has to be a secret, I know she doesn't want anyone to worry. Dauntless and Amity don't exactly get along, and Everly isn't exactly the image of a soldier. She's determined to succeed, but all I can think of is what if she fails.

I watch her breeze through Amity. She seems unusually relaxed, blazingly free as she beams at her friends and walks for the last time amongst the fields. She's not mine to touch anymore, and hasn't been for months. It's clear to me that she's already picturing herself in Dauntless. The realization is uncomfortable, and while I could ask Johanna for something to take the edge off of what I feel, I don't.

It makes me feel the tiniest bit alive in the worst way possible.

* * *

I kiss her forehead goodbye when she leaves for the Choosing Ceremony.

She allows me this small token of affection, and even though it's probably more for appearance's sake, I hope it's a little bit for her, too.

My throat feels tight and my skin feels a size too small. She's dressed prettily; a pink sundress I know is her favorite, a pair of flat shoes, and her hair is long and free. She's never been one to braid it up or twist it into place, and my fingers feel the ghost of an ache to touch it one last time.

But I don't.

"Good luck, Everly." I say the words quietly, even softer because I don't mean them. I want her to change her mind, to stumble up the stairs under the weight of her decision, to panic when she thrusts her arm out over the bowls, to choose the life she has.

But I know she won't.

And she doesn't.

Her parents' return is proof of that. They return alone, both smiling the best they can. Her father has his arm around Eden's shoulders, and he's talking soothingly in her ear. I can tell Eden is taking this harder than expected, even though she's been given enough peace serum to drug an entire family.

Eden catches my eye as they walk by, and she looks at me with hurt in her eyes. She thinks I knew, that I kept it from her for some terrible reason.

I don't have the heart to tell her that it was because her own daughter asked me to.

* * *

The air begins to cool at night, and the days seem to shorten. There is much work to do, but there always is. Amity is never short of hands to complete the work, so my absence is hardly noticeable.

She's been gone for a few weeks now, and everything sucks.

With Everly's defection, my whole world has been flipped upside down. I've found myself rebuking the food I know contains the largest amounts of peace serum, and in turn, my true emotions bubble up in an unsteady manner. The feelings are foreign and raw, and they make me far angrier than I am prepared for. It's hard to reign in the uneasy feelings. My teeth stay clenched together to resist snapping at anyone who so much as dares to look at me.

The only thing that relieves the heavy feeling is to seek out silence. To find my way through the twisting woods, and to get impossibly lost amongst its cover. There's something healing about being alone with my own thoughts. So I climb through a winding, uneven path, and I skate along the bank of a leftover trail, and I force her out of my head as I reach a clearing.

It is here that I first stumble upon the man with a pair of binoculars, scouting out the area. His clothing tells me he doesn't belong to any faction; his jeans are dark and casually ripped up, his shirt is crisp and white, and his jacket is a very fitted, very royal blue that reveals itself to be from Erudite. He has a heavy pair of boots on, and he cocks an eyebrow at me as I approach him.

"Can I help you?" he tosses out.

His stance tells me he was once Dauntless, and he shows no fear. But then again, not many cower in fear of people from Amity.

"What are you doing out here?" I'm curious as to what he could possibly be looking for. There's nothing here except dense woods and a small stream that widens the further west you go.

"Research," he answers, and takes a step back. "For a report."

The man doesn't seem all that interested in talking, so I shrug and continue on my way.

I think of him long after I return, wondering just what he was researching.

* * *

The line for dinner stretches on for longer than I'd like it to. I came back much later than I had planned, and I exhale sharply when I realize my mistake. I was supposed to meet Everly's father for dinner, but I don't see him. I scan the Dome quickly, trying to find him. He hasn't looked especially well lately, and I can't help the guilt building up in my stomach.

"He's not here," Sophia says calmly, with just a hint of reproach. I don't realize I've nearly crashed into her, and I only come to a halt when her hands fly out to stop me. "He waited for you, but he went home to eat with Eden."

"I got busy," I tell her, my eyes flicking over to the dinner line. I feel like everyone is staring at me, but in reality no one is paying attention. They are all blissfully waiting for their dinners, idly chatting about the lovely night.

"You're being really rude lately." Her words are spoken softly, but there's a force behind them.

"It's not really any of your business now, is it?" I snap.

Sophia looks stunned, her eyes wide and her mouth falling open. Rudeness is not well-tolerated in Amity, just the same as any other negative emotion. I didn't mean to be rude to her, or maybe I did. Lately my thoughts are a big swirl of messy emotions: what I should be allowing myself to feel warring with how I actually feel.

"You're in my way." My words are said between clenched teeth. Lately my patience for anything related to Everly is minimal, and that includes her stupid friends. Sophia is the worst of them; she is far too offended by anything that isn't rainbows and sunshine, and much too reactive. There's no doubt she's Amity, though. She bows her head for a moment to collect herself, and then she meets my stare.

"I'm sorry, Landon. I miss Everly, too. But you don't see me walking around yelling at everyone." She says the words gently, full of understanding and forgiveness. She'll pass her Amity initiation with flying colors.

I don't bother to answer her. I throw her a look that tells her exactly what I think of her, and I push past her to grab a plate. I'll eat at home, far away from everyone in this community. For the first time in my life, I understand Everly's desire to get out of here.

* * *

"What if she fails?"

I ask Johanna on a quiet day when she and I are tending the stables. The horses are uneasy, probably due to my nervous energy. Johanna lets her fingers trail off the large white mare before she looks at me.

"We shouldn't think she might fail, Landon. She might do exceptionally well."

Johanna's outlook is positive, and I nod at her. Of course I don't want to think about Everly failing, but there's a chance she could. I can easily picture the way her face will fall as they tell her she's not going to make it. The way her shoulders will slump when she realizes she's made the wrong decision in leaving Amity.

"She could come back here," I say the words as quietly as possible. "I don't think anyone would really notice. And we could certainly use her help."

Johanna doesn't answer me. She watches me out of the corner of her eye, and holds her face in a neutral expression. It's a long time before she replies, so long I almost think she won't answer.

"Amity would never turn its back on someone in need, Landon."

* * *

The days pass by slowly.

It doesn't bother me too much, because I think I've finally gotten Everly out of my head.

Until she comes back.

I catch sight of her the minute she walks into Amity. She's dressed like one of their soldiers; gone are her soft dresses and pretty shoes, replaced by a pair of boots and a heavy uniform jacket that matches those worn by their leaders. She's nothing more than a clone of them, a darkly-dressed soldier whose only job is to carry out someone else's orders.

I squint at her, my eyes narrowing when she steps closer. One of the leaders is with her, and it doesn't take long for me to realize he seems overly interested in what she's doing. She walks alongside him with the same straight spine, except there's a smile on her face and a grimace on his. His blonde hair is sharp and severe, parted back and somehow held in place. He doesn't smile at anyone, other than a smug smirk that occasionally tugs at his lips.

He watches her for a moment, allowing her to stand there and admire the view, and there's a sense of possessiveness to his look. Like he owns her or something.

Maybe he does.

Maybe part of being so Dauntless and brave is that you must give up yourself in order to fit into your new faction. I refuse to believe Everly would willingly choose such a place, but judging by the looks of her, I'm wrong. I can't watch anymore; the sight of her here, dressed like an Everly I don't know, is too much to deal with. I take off towards the woods, neglecting to finish up my work, but no one will really notice. I need a second to clear my head, and there's only one place I can think to go.

* * *

I don't see them again until dinner.

I hang back towards the serving line, aimlessly eating an apple. This spot is the perfect vantage point; I can see her and her companion perfectly. They're sitting at a crowded table, eating their dinner amongst Amity like they're performing a huge act of indulgence. The man she's with is named Eric, and I dislike him more and more as the time passes by. His eyes are too shifty, and while he doesn't have an ounce of discomfort to him, he looks bored. As though the Amity dinner is far beneath him. He's not really eating anything, and I realize he's smart enough to know what's in the food.

Instead, he spends most of his time with his eyes on Everly, occasionally smirking when she looks at him.

I feel nauseous when he leans in close and tugs on the bottom of her hair. My lips part in surprise when Everly doesn't shove him away. She doesn't look surprised he's touched her; in fact, it looks like it's a comfortable exchange. As though his hands on her is a common occurrence.

It seems wrong. Any Dauntless member I have ever observed has always been cold and distant, emotionless unless they're leaping off a train. But this Eric seems pleased with himself, his rough hands in her soft hair earning the reward of her smile.

"As soon as you are done, we are leaving," he announces briskly, and it echoes through the Dome. It's clear he's had enough of this dinner, enough of our faction.

I watch Everly nod and answer him, and I'm filled with a sense of dread.

She's leaving; soon she'll rise up from the table and follow after him like an obedient Dauntless drone. The thought makes me feel wild and panicky. I want to talk to her, to corner her alone for a moment, make sure she's alright and safe. To make sure he's not the one in charge of her fate, because I have the sinking feeling he is. He's too invested in her, his actions all geared towards her, his eyes never leaving her.

She stands, and I realize I have little time to come up with a plan to talk to her.

Everly politely steps away from the table and walks a familiar route towards the kitchen. She hands her plate over to the man behind the counter; she turns, and her eyes fly open when she realizes I'm standing beside her.

"Everly!" I try to keep my voice warm, excited to see her, and not like I've been desperately thinking about her coming back here. I take a chance and reach for her, my hands grasping her arms and drawing her towards me. "I thought that was you!"

She smiles at me, her eyes peeking through her long bangs. "How are you?"

Her smile falters a tiny bit when I inch closer, and I ignore the thudding in my chest. She's finally back in my arms, her warm body so close to mine, but something is wrong. She seems hesitant, unsure of me. I try to focus on the feel of her, willing her to remember me. She shifts slightly, smiling again and in that instant everything comes back. Every repressed feeling and emotion bursts through me until they're all I feel.

"I'm good, Everly. I can't believe you're here. I've just…I just really miss you." My hands act of their own accord. One of them lets go of her and snakes up towards her face. Her skin is soft under my fingers, and I trace her cheekbone before I slip my fingers into her hair. My thumb lingers on her cheek, stroking it gently. "You look beautiful."

Her face is pretty and flushed, and her eyes are bright and clear. I suddenly feel woefully desperate to keep her near me. I need her to feel the same way I do, to miss what we shared. I want to tell her so many things, so many confessions, but instead I let my fingers find her lips.

"Johanna and I were talking the other day. If you don't make it through the initiation, you can come back here." I whisper the words to her.

Everly's reaction is not what I expect. She goes rigid, her whole body freezing in place. She finally blinks at me, confusion flashing across her face. "What?"

I pull no punches. I flash her an empathetic look, pretending I know just what sort of initiation she's going through. "Everly, you are so sweet and pure. You are not cut out for Dauntless. You do not need to prove your bravery to anyone. If they try to make you factionless, you can come back here. We'll help you stay out of their sights."

She doesn't move. Her lips parts, but no words come out.

"You belong here," I insist firmly. She's doesn't seem to appreciate my plan, and I start to panic as she shakes her head.

"I don't. I belong in Dauntless."

No.

I sigh at her naïve insistence. I decide to make one final attempt to remind her of who she is. "You don't. I don't know why you don't see it. Are you not going to realize it until they kick you out?" I say the words quickly, and I lean into her. She smells different, not like the Everly I remember, but I press on undeterred. She's unprepared for my actions, and I firmly press my lips to hers. For a moment everything is blissfully familiar, and it's like she never left.

Then she reacts.

Her whole body stiffens, and she tries to shove me back. She's surprisingly strong, and I'm caught off guard at her rebuttal.

"Landon!" She all but spits my name. "What are you doing? I'm not going to be factionless." She looks insulted, her pretty eyes flashing angrily.

I shake my head at her, despair washing over me. I thought she'd be lured back by the offer, or at the very least grateful for the chance to return. "You don't belong there. I saw the man you came here with. I can see the coldness in his eyes, the glare on his face. You are nothing like that."

Everly shakes her head at me, and she roughly shoves my arms away. The action is painful on a few levels. "How can you say that? I'm doing really well there."

I can feel the frustration rising in my throat. Does she really think she's doing well? Letting that man touch her hair and command her every move.

"Come home," I whisper. "I want you back here." I finally let my hand fall from her hair, and I take a step back. I don't know if I've gotten through to her at all, but I can only hope.

"Are you two done?" Eric's cold voice snaps through the air, and I jerk my head towards him.

The moment is fractured even further when Everly realizes Eric is standing there. Her whole body is tense, but not as tense as his. She steps back from me as though she's done something wrong. Eric's face is taut and blank, but his hands are balled tightly into fists. "We need to get back to Dauntless. Unless you've got other plans."

He says the words nastily, his condescending tone dripping with each word. It's clear Eric has been standing there long enough to overhear part of our conversation, and the way he keeps gritting his teeth tells me he was there when I kissed her. Everly looks at me for a fleeting moment before she takes another step back.

"It was good to see you," she says evenly, almost dismissively, and I can tell she's trying hard not to look at Eric. He looks so mad that his lips are curling into a snarl, nearly baring his teeth.

"Think about what I said," I implore her. I won't give up. I'll get her back. I know I can.

She shakes her head furiously. Eric turns on his heel and stalks off, his shoulders squared in agitation. Had I been thinking more rationally, I would have realized he seemed unusually pissed off for someone that was simply here to conduct a meeting with an initiate.

My heart sinks when Everly follows after him, a funny look spreading across her face.

He matters to her.

This Eric.

What he thinks must matter greatly, and I realize she's never looked at me like that.

* * *

I try hard to forget about her.

So I head out more often.

I see the men more and more now.

They are always in the woods, sometimes coming as close as they dare. They are all different, but they share the same sense of authority. Like they have a right to be there, on our property, doing whatever they are doing.

One of them tells me I should come with them.

"We need more people who know the land."

I find myself nodding yes before I can even think about it, because I have nothing left to lose.

* * *

It only takes a few weeks before I realize I'm in over my head.

These men are part of an army, one that is prepping to take down the system. They are surprisingly resourceful; they've made a home for themselves in a place one would think is uninhabitable, and they have an impressive amount of weapons on hand.

But it's honorable.

They're trying to do the right thing, to break a flawed system.

At least that's what I try to tell myself. Every day it becomes a little harder to return to Amity, and sometimes I manage to stay away for stretches at a time. It is easy to fit in here; no one questions what I'm doing or why I'm here, and no one tells me to cheer up.

I make sure my returns to Amity are always at night and always when the faction is at its quietest. Sometimes it's hard to be in Amity, pretending I haven't seen what else is out there. By the time the cold has settled in, I've closed myself off completely to everyone there. No one other than Everly's father notices, but I've pushed him away just as easily as everyone else.

The less to remind me of her, the better.

I still see her face, and I still hear her voice. It's maddening in the worst way, and after several days without peace serum, it gives me a throbbing headache. I push my palms against my eyes, and force myself to sit still.

"Take this."

Evelyn hands me two small pills and a paper cup of water. I stare at them reluctantly, unease working its way up my back. I've never taken anything like this, and I don't know exactly what they are.

"They'll help with the pain," Evelyn tells me, and I blink up at her. Her voice is strong and clear, and it's easy to see why she's the leader of this ragtag army she's assembled.

"Thanks," I mutter. I shove my hair out of my face, and I swallow down the white pills.

A little while later my headache is gone, and I can't think of many reasons not to trust Evelyn.

* * *

He only appears a few times.

He's tall, with brown hair and deep blue eyes, and an apprehensive look on his face. His dark jacket tells me he comes from Dauntless, and I bite back the urge to ask him about Everly.

Instead, I focus on him and Evelyn.

Whenever he sees her, it always looks as though it pains him to be in her presence. She looks almost wistful, regret sometimes crossing her features when he isn't looking.

He's here to help her, I think. I see him walking with a few of the self-appointed leaders of her army, men who deem themselves cunning enough to go up against the city.

It only lasts for a little bit, though.

He storms out one day, his shoulders high and his face unhappy, and he doesn't return.

* * *

Knowing whether she can trust the loyalty of the people working with her is important to Evelyn, so she makes it a point to question everyone to determine their motivations. I could have lied to her when she came to me, but instead I chose to confess my reasons for leaving Amity, even sharing my feelings about Everly's departure with her.

It must have resonated with her.

Ordinarily, Evelyn is a blunt, no-nonsense leader. But today she takes me aside to gently break the news to me, giving me a rare glimpse at a considerate and compassionate side to her.

I am shocked to learn that not only has Everly passed her Dauntless initiation, she's now married to one of their leaders. To Eric, it turns out, the same man who'd marched her around Amity, touching her before he had any right to. I feel nauseated by this turn of events, but it burns away until all that's left is a dull fury.

All I can think is that he hardly knows her, and she hardly knows him. Obviously, she would never have married such a man had she not been in a desperate state. There is nothing about Eric that matches up with Everly. She is too kind for him, too sweet and loving, too good. He doesn't deserve her, not in any way.

I don't know what she sees in Eric. The man is nothing but a brutish asshole; he's large and arrogant, he's unkind and harsh, and he's a monster. A murderous, militant, scheming monster who carries out the plans that others have handed to him. He is cunning, I suppose. After all, he had been quick to trick her into staying with him.

Evelyn has told me a lot about Eric's involvement in Jeanine's plans. I wonder if Everly knows what kind of man she married.

If not, I'm quite certain she will.

Eventually.

* * *

There is a stillness in the air.

Everly's father died yesterday. Sophia fills me in, even though I don't really deserve to hear the details. She tells me it was quick; he had a heart attack and died later the same day. Most importantly, Everly arrived in time to say her goodbyes.

I stiffen at those words.

Hank Carlen was a good man and we had been quite close, at least until my absences from Amity grew longer and my returns grew shorter. But his death still feels like another punch in the gut, another reason to throw caution to the wind and speak my mind.

Which is exactly what I do when I see Everly and her idiot husband leaving before the dinner to honor her father.

The dinner hasn't even started yet, but they're obviously headed on their way out of Amity. I'm taken aback; Everly and Hank had butted heads a few times, but he had loved her unconditionally. He was proud of her, of everything she did; yet she can't be bothered now to show her respect and sit through one final meal in remembrance of him.

I stride towards them and they both stop in their tracks. Neither of their faces shows any surprise, but Eric's eyes narrow when I hold up one hand to halt them.

"Leaving so soon?" I taunt the two of them, the anger coming faster than ever. Hank didn't deserve this from his own daughter.

"Let me guess, Eric here's gotta get back to Dauntless and he's dragging you along with him. Nice husband you got there. Won't even let you mourn the loss of your own father." I can feel the smirk forming on my face before I can stop myself. "You really know how to pick 'em, Everly."

They don't react the way I'd expect. Everly looks at me almost sympathetically, and Eric continues to look bored.

"Are you done here?" he asks rudely, shifting his weight. I wonder how Everly can stand to be around him. I have the urge to tell him off, expose him for who he really is — a self-made monster.

"Does she know?" I toss out the words easily. "Does she know that you're simply an asshole who doesn't give a shit about her?"

I watch as Everly straightens her posture defensively. I'll never understand the allure of him, how she can be so willing to place him first in her life. He certainly doesn't deserve it. Right now he's looking at me with contempt, as if that moron actually believes he's better than me.

Everly grits her teeth and snaps at me, "I decided to go home. I've said my goodbyes here."

Her disregard for her father disgusts and infuriates me. I'm certain her callousness is caused by Eric pressuring her to leave.

"It's a little weird for you to be so outwardly angry. Are you sure you're okay, Landon?" She looks at me carefully. Her gaze makes me feel irate. She should be the one feeling angry, feeling anything other than a desire to return to Dauntless with him. He's ruined her, brainwashed her into thinking he's all she needs.

"You're so naïve it isn't even funny. Shame you let Eric take away the sweet girl you once were." I take a step back, and I sneer at her. "It was nice knowing you. Sorry I wasted all those years of my life with you."

I know my words have some sort of effect on her because her fist suddenly collides with my face. The pain is instant, and I can feel the blood rush immediately. I stumble back, caught off guard by her actions. "What the hell?"

I wasn't expecting her to hit me, and it only serves to show me I'm right. She is not the same Everly I loved. The realization is blinding, and in a fit of rage I lunge for her, ready to tear into her.

I don't get far.

Eric steps in front of me, snarling as he grabs me by the throat and squeezes. "Come at my wife again and I'll make sure don't have too many years of your life left."

His words ring in my ears and I struggle to take in a breath. Suddenly, Eric shoves me aside and my knees hit the earth, a sharp pain shooting upwards. I ignore it, instead choking on my own blood that's dripping down my throat. I wipe uselessly at my face, and before I can rise up, he takes her hand.

I watch him lace his fingers through hers, the action practiced and routine, and he pulls her towards him. He throws me one final, irritated look as they walk away.

She never looks back.

* * *

It seems like forever passes by before they finally send someone to infiltrate the Dauntless faction.

I've known it was coming for a while now. Evelyn announced the plan a few months ago.

Thanks to Eric, Everly is directly in Evelyn's line of sight, nothing more than a pawn in everyone's plans. Eric is using her for his own gain, and Evelyn is about to use her for the same. My head starts to ache when I think about that fact, and I rub at my temples for a moment.

Evelyn is well aware of Everly's position in Dauntless, and unbeknownst to her, Everly has been training her own captor. They've sent Vincent, a lumbering asshole who took great delight in the idea of kidnapping one of Dauntless's own. Vincent grew up factionless, and after a life of fending for himself, he is far stronger and more brutal than anyone I've ever met.

He was one of the first people Evelyn had approached to help her.

Her plan is simple, yet diabolical.

She's been watching Eric carefully, waiting to make her move until she found the only important thing in his life. He isn't stupid, and Evelyn knows she's found a weak spot with him. She seems to think that taking Eric's wife will force him into action, prompting him to lend his support to her. She believes she can draw Eric here and convince him to sign over his army to protect her, all in exchange for Everly. And if Evelyn can convince Dauntless to support her, she'll be nearly unstoppable.

She's figured Eric out easily, and from just a few offhand comments from the man who no longer comes to visit her, she's discovered the one person Eric can't live without.

She just happens to be my ex-girlfriend.

* * *

It isn't until one bleakly cold day that the noise level suddenly doubles, a rush of excitement filling the air.

She is here.

I manage to catch sight of her as they whisk her through the compound; her dark hair is matted and covering her face, and her body is limp in Vincent's arms as he lumbers along. For a second she raises her head, her eyes dulled with pain and confusion before they close again, and my chest tightens in anxiety.

It seems wrong to see her like this, unconscious and helpless. For a moment I panic; the air seems to be sucked from my lungs and I grow cold as the crowd presses inwards. They are all trying to catch a glimpse of the girl. They all know who she is, why Evelyn has her.

I can only wonder if this is the sort of excitement Everly wanted in her life. I watch her stir slightly, her head lolling to the side at an uncomfortable angle. There's a dark wetness that streaks through the side of her hair, and I recoil when I realize it's her blood.

There is a faint murmuring as the crowd parts and Evelyn appears.

Her eyes light up when she realizes Everly is really here, in the arms of the man sent to retrieve her. Evelyn steps closer to her, and my lungs constrict painfully. She touches her hair gently, almost in a motherly fashion, and she frowns when she realizes her fingers are raking through blood. Vincent's orders were to bring Everly to the factionless, but I'm certain Evelyn wanted her alive. Or, at the very least, conscious.

"She'll wake up. She hit her head." Vincent's voice is rough and far too deep to pass as 'Colton', the fledgling Dauntless initiate he was sent to be. His face is young-looking, but up close he's weary and angered, his lips turning downwards and his eyebrows knitted together. He stares down at her, and for a moment I wait for him to flash a look of guilt at her, for him to realize that she's not really stirring, but it never comes. He simply looks irritated at Evelyn's dark stare, and he lowers his head when she snaps for him to take Everly upstairs.

I watch them walk away, Everly's dark hair spilling over his arms and the blackness of her uniform an abrupt reminder of who she's become to deserve this. Marrying Eric has managed to put her in the most dangerous position possible.

I close my eyes, ignoring the press of the people beside me, and I try to remember the Everly that I loved.

* * *

I visit her once, while she's still asleep.

I stand beside Evelyn, my hands clasped tightly behind me, and I stare at the girl in the bed while I try to fight down the urge to run. She resembles the Everly I remember, except she's pale now, and an obnoxiously large ring is perched on her finger. It seems to gleam at me in a mocking manner, the large stone sparkling even in the dim room. The sight of it makes me nauseous, and I try to ignore the unpleasant feeling.

Evelyn purses her lips together and throws her stare to me.

"Do you think she'll wake up soon?"

I swallow, not wanting to meet her intense gaze. Vincent had hit her head hard enough and often enough to knock her out, but she'd stirred a bit while he'd stormed through the factionless sector. "Did he crack her head open?" The words sound hollow, and my eyes are still on the ring on her finger. When I finally look up at Evelyn, she's staring at me with a knowing expression on her face.

"Luckily, no. I didn't ask for him to be so rough with her. Maybe she put up more of a fight than we anticipated." Evelyn reaches for Everly's hand and she cocks her head at me. "Eric trained her himself. He must take great pride in his wife holding such an esteemed position in Dauntless."

Her words make my blood run cold, only warming up when she takes Everly's hand and slides both of her rings off her finger.

"I gave her something for the pain. She'll be fine when she wakes up. This is an important moment for us." Evelyn slips the rings into her pocket and smiles at me. "We'll let her sleep for a bit. We have much to talk about."

I nod, stealing one final look at Everly. If it wasn't for Eric, she wouldn't be here, ready to be used as bait to lure him out. He did this to her. Yes, of course; it's all Eric's fault that Everly is in this position.

I feel better now that the rings are off her finger, but I just wish she would open her eyes.

* * *

She's allowed to walk around freely, mostly because everyone knows who she is and there's no chance of her leaving. I hear them whisper amongst themselves, like the words are some sort of quiet, juicy rumor. They whisper them with glee: she's married to Eric, she's the key to getting what Evelyn needs, she's the entire reason Evelyn has a chance to succeed. They whisper them with distaste: she's the reason Eric isn't quite the focused leader he should be, she's been handed her leadership position, she's not much of a fighter if she got herself kidnapped.

I frown at that one.

I don't think anyone could have fought Vincent off. He's large and powerful, and even if someone were able to catch him off guard, he'd be hard to stop.

I see her a few times before I work up the nerve to talk to her. It's different being here with the factionless, and sometimes it's almost painful to be amongst them. It's been a very long time since I've had any sort of peace serum, and though there is no detox or withdrawal, there is a sharp sting when one's feelings aren't dulled down to pleasantness. Seeing Everly walk around with her arms wrapped around her waist and her shoulders slumped makes my stomach hurt. It causes an icy pain in my chest, one that grows larger every time I see her.

She looks almost the same as she did when she left Amity. The clothes they've given her are a size too large, but I can tell she's far stronger than she was before. Her hair is haphazardly thrown up, and she keeps her eyes trained ahead. She doesn't really smile at anyone, and I can tell she's thought about escaping.

She wouldn't get far if she attempted to leave. I am able to come and go as I please, but even I know Evelyn has factionless eyes everywhere. Some even came from Dauntless, never making it far enough to become an actual member, but certainly far enough that they knew of Eric. Evelyn has them well enough trained as soldiers, and they won't hesitate to drag Everly back if she steps too far away. In fact, they'd be happy to return her to Evelyn, proving their unwavering loyalty.

Everly sits at a table in the middle of the room and curls into herself. She looks a little down today, perhaps crushed under the weight of Eric's failure to come get her. It's the latest bit of juicy gossip that's running through the factionless. The leader of Dauntless has forsaken his bride, and she will stay here to rot until Evelyn finds a purpose for her.

For a moment, I wonder if Evelyn really did send for him, but the thought is foolish.

Of course she did.

I don't want Everly to go back to him, any more than I want Jeanine to have ultimate control over everyone. Evelyn's war has purpose, though everything in me screams to get away from it. No matter what side I choose, I will lose out either way. I will either lose Everly a second time, or I will lose a war I never set out to fight.

I watch her for a few silent minutes as I chew my lip absentmindedly. Her head looks better; there's no longer matted blood in her hair or a dazed look in her eyes. Everly glances around aimlessly before her gaze falls back to the table.

It doesn't take long for an idea to form in my head, easily slipping into my mind as I stare at her.

I just need her to trust me, even if it's for only one split second.

I steady myself before I take the seat next to her. Our last run-in did not go so well, and I expect nothing but resistance from her. It takes a moment, but Everly turns until she recognizes who's sitting beside her, and her eyes lock on mine.

I wait for the recognition, the deep-seated connection I know is buried inside of her, but the only look that crosses her face is utter loathing. It doesn't matter, for I know exactly what to say.

I hold my palms up to her, my eyes on her own.

"I can help you."

* * *

Evelyn knows she will lose against Eric.

It's not any big secret or surprise. Despite the fact that her army is large and feral, we all know the Dauntless army will show up well-trained and ready to fight. Despite Eric's failure to agree to the deal, Everly is far too important to him and to their faction to just leave behind.

It's why I now sit in Evelyn's office amongst a few others who come and go. Our allegiance to her isn't complete, but she doesn't mind. Having eyes everywhere is important to her, and she knows that when the time comes, we'll be rewarded for keeping her in the know. She's asked everyone to stay alert, just waiting to catch sight of Eric.

She finishes up our meeting quickly. There's something to be said about how short and brief they are. There's no internal debating, no meditating on what was spoken, no deeper meaning to her words. She's blunt, perched on the edge of her chair, her eyes wide and stern. She dismisses the others quickly, but it's only a second before she says my name.

"Landon, I have a favor to ask you."

The door shuts behind the others, and Evelyn is quiet for a moment before she speaks.

"You know he'll win, don't you?" She cocks her head to the side and she looks thoughtful. "I don't have quite the resources he does."

I shrug at her, wondering what she's getting at.

"But you know what I do have? I have the one person who can destroy him. The one person who can break him mentally." She pauses, and I hold my breath until she speaks again. "I have his wife. And if I want to win this war, I've got to be smart. I can't squander my resources before I'm ready." She stops and her gaze darkens.

"You'll take her back to Amity," she says slowly. "You'll keep her there, and when the time is right I'll return for her."

"Why on Earth would I take her back there?" I ask her, even though my heart is now racing so fast it might burst through my chest. The idea is dizzying, maddening. Taking Everly back to our home, returning to our roots. "She won't go willingly if she thinks Eric is coming."

The words are bitter as they leave my mouth, and Evelyn nods.

"I know she won't. You'll take her there. I want Eric to think he's lost her. I need to tear him apart, ruin him the best way I know how. And I know you are not his biggest fan." She says the last words pointedly.

"Not really." I try to play off my contempt for him.

"I've been working on something, tweaking one of the serums a bit. She'll be injected before you two leave, and she won't remember anything about him. But she'll go with you, without any protest."

For a moment I don't say anything, I simply stare up at her. My hopes are darkened a bit at this news; I want Everly to be with me, but I don't want her to return as a mindless drone. I want her to remember us, every single glorious detail of our time together.

"What good will it do if you wipe her mind clean?" I finally ask. Evelyn blinks tiredly, her whole face exuding exasperation.

"It'll keep her mouth shut. The serum we'll give her causes a different form of memory loss. It won't cause a blank slate, but it'll dull her mind enough that she'll behave. We've been working on it for some time now." She leans back for a second, crossing her arms in front of her. "Jeanine doesn't really know just what she has in her possession. If she were smarter," Evelyn smirks, "She'd realize the endless possibilities she has in the palm of her hands."

I nod my head, thinking about her words. I might have a chance here. Everly might find herself happy back in Amity. I could keep her away from Evelyn when she returns for her, or maybe she won't return at all.

For a blazing moment, I imagine Eric killing Evelyn when he realizes Everly isn't here. I bet he won't want his precious wife back when he realizes she doesn't know him anymore.

Evelyn fumbles through her desk drawer for a second, and she finally produces a piece of paper. She hands it to me, and her eyes find mine.

"Give this to Johanna. Tell her Everly failed out of the leadership training in Dauntless, and they were benevolent enough to let her return to Amity. I'm sure she will let her stay there, out of the kindness of her heart."

I reach for the paper, and my palm itches as I take the note from her.

* * *

Her head rolls against mine, and her eyes are slipping shut.

The sight of the injection looks a bit raw; there's a red smear of what is probably blood, and a bump where the needle pierced her skin. She's breathing normally, but I'm not so sure about the drowsiness. I should have asked Evelyn, but there was no time. I watch them shove her into the truck beside me. Her eyes look wild and wet, and she stumbles for a second until she is seated beside me. It's a long moment before I realize she doesn't quite recognize me and that she's also half asleep.

The driver pulls out and onto an adjacent street, and I recognize the route. We are making a sharp turn to take us out of the line of fire. The Dauntless trucks are parked everywhere, but I don't see Eric until we are straightened out.

I watch his face darken, his whole body tensing, and the desperate yell that leaves his mouth.

He's calling her name, his eyes scanning the area frantically.

I should feel horrified at the sight, knowing they've baited Eric into thinking he can save her, when in reality, she isn't even there. And even though he may not deserve Everly, it seems that he actually does feel something for her. Letting him believe that his own last-ditch attempt to rescue her might work is heartless.

I push the feeling away.

Everly's head falls onto my shoulder and I realize she's asleep. I reach with my free arm to graze against her fingers with my own. Her skin is warm and soft to the touch; I smile and relax when I realize how familiar this feels.

* * *

Amity is gorgeous this time of year.

The sky is burning with the sunset, glowing light streaking prettily over the trees and fading into the distance. I stretch as I exit the truck, letting my muscles flex after being cramped during the ride. Everly steps out and walks a few steps from me, smiling blankly into the distance.

It's obvious she doesn't remember anything.

"It's really pretty here," she tells me, and her words are soft and sweet. She's glancing around, staring at the community before her. I watch her eyes skate over the wooden buildings, the thick forest looming behind them. There's a certain romance to it, and in this moment, I know she can feel it.

"It's your home," I tell her firmly. I motion for her to follow me, and I almost miss it when her face falls for a moment. She hesitates for half a second, her whole body tensing up. My heart thuds loudly, and I wonder if Evelyn's stupid serum didn't work, if she failed in this just like she failed in her stupid war.

But then Everly takes a step towards me, and she smiles.

* * *

Johanna doesn't look like she wants to believe me.

It's unsettling.

For as long as I've known her, she's kept her expressions carefully and appropriately neutral. Her job has never been to judge, but right now her eyes tell me she's suspicious of my story. I try to stand behind it, pretending it's the truth. And it could be. Everly could have failed out of her leadership training, and Eric could have asked for Amity to take her back in, granting her some merciful bargain of going home and keeping her mouth shut by way of a memory wipe.

"Why would they erase her memory?" Johanna asks me patiently. Her eyes haven't left Everly for more than a few seconds, and right now they're giving her a once-over. They linger on the mark on her neck. I tried to wipe away most of the blood, but Everly had cringed away when my fingers found her skin.

I tried not to take it personally.

But now Johanna is staring at the red mark, and her lips turn downwards.

"They didn't want her coming back here with all of their secrets. I guess they figured this was the only way she could come back," I offer up, shoving my hands in my pockets. I need this to go faster; I'm not prepared to answer all of these questions.

"Eric didn't send any other word she'd be returning," Johanna states. Her eyes fall to Everly's fingers and she narrows her eyes.

"It must not have ended on good terms," I tell her flatly. I know what she's looking for. The obnoxious wedding rings that had adorned Everly's finger. I watched when Evelyn took them off of her, and I can only assume she is using them as proof of her death. I swallow down the small bout of nausea that settles in my stomach when I think about Evelyn returning for Everly, perhaps tricking me the same way she tricked Eric.

"Very well." Johanna shifts her weight and her stare bores into my own. "You take her and get her settled. We'll give her a few days to get reacquainted here."

"Thank you," I mutter, and I reach for Everly's arm. She's been silent this whole time, but she jerks her face to look at mine when I touch her. I wonder if any of this is familiar to her, if my hands on her spark any memory of our days together.

"You must be very happy she's back."

Johanna's words are startling, and I feel a prick of unease. I flash her a look that I hope reads as empathetic.

"I'd be happier if she could remember who I am," I point out. "It's unfortunate that she failed in Dauntless. I don't enjoy her failure, but at this point she's practically a stranger to me. I'd much prefer the Everly I knew," I tell her. "Besides, she needs help. Amity never turn their backs on someone who needs help." My words sound harsher than I intend them to, and Johanna nods at me, understanding washing over her face.

"Of course. I'll leave you be."

I nod, trying not to dig my fingers into Everly's skin. I don't need her yelping anything right now.

"Goodnight, Landon. Goodnight, Everly," Johanna murmurs at us, and I smile at her, relief flooding through me.

"Goodnight," Everly tells her, and I can tell she has no idea who she's talking to. She follows after me, and I'm disheartened when her stare is as blank as ever.

* * *

I bring Everly back to my home. I've given her some space, hoping that maybe she'll start to remember a few things the longer she's here. The surroundings must be a little bit familiar to her; she spent quite a few nights here, her body draped against my own. I don't disturb her, not wanting to push her just yet. In the morning, things will be different; I'll have the opportunity to fill in the gaps for her.

I can easily interject our relationship into her mind, leaving out the part where she left me behind. I'll fill in the cracks with a few carefully worded stories of our time together, and it won't be long before she falls back into the same routine as before.

Except this time, it'll be with me.

I dress quickly, throwing on a pair of pajama pants and nothing else. The night air is still cold, but it's warm in the bedroom. I light a fire before my shower, and Everly stares at it while I head towards the bathroom. She dresses for bed while I shower.

My shower complete, I walk back out of the bathroom and glance towards the bed, and my chest tightens when I realize she's asleep. She's curled beneath the sheets of my bed, her dark hair spilling over the pillow. The familiarity of the scene in front of me is excruciating; it's as though she's never left, never gone off and married that idiot.

I walk slowly towards the bed, admiring the way she looks against my sheets. It's been a long time since she was in my bed, but she doesn't know that. The sight before me looks right, and it is. It's what should have happened.

Everly doesn't move when I slip beneath the sheets, angling my body towards hers. She's fast asleep, her breathing deep and slow, and I watch her for a few moments. The urge to reach out and touch her is overwhelming. I'm certain she belongs here and not anywhere else.

My eyes slip closed of their own accord, and I suddenly realize just how tired I really am. The day has been draining, much more than I expected. It's not until I've almost drifted off that I decide I won't return her to Evelyn if she shows up to claim her. While I don't believe she will, for Eric's murderous rage is far too strong for her to escape, I don't plan on letting Everly slip away from me again.

She's mine now.

* * *

It doesn't take long before I realize she doesn't belong here.

In fact, I can tell the minute she wakes up.

She shoves herself away from me, her face twisting into a grimace, and I half-expect her to hiss when I reach for her. It's clear he's rubbed off on her; she sneers for a moment as she moves away from me, at least before her face falls.

Suddenly, she looks like the Everly I know: her hair is long and tangled around her shoulders, and she's staring at me with a wide-eyed expression.

"Why am I here?" she asks, and shakes her head suddenly. "I can remember… I can remember being here... I know I was here before." She stops, drawing her arms up defensively, her eyes scanning the room. "Something's wrong."

I don't get the chance to say anything to her, because she flees the room before I can open my mouth.

* * *

Eden is downright thrilled she's back.

Her mother is beaming at her with a sunny smile, and she clings onto Everly as though she'll never let her go. Everly lets her mother hold her; she glares at me from the safety of Eden's arms, and she looks absolutely furious. I wait for Eden to demand an explanation as to why her daughter has suddenly returned, bursting through the front door half-dressed, but something tells me Johanna's gotten to her first.

"Thank you for bringing her home," she says softly, stroking Everly's hair. Everly breaks away from her suddenly, pushing her hair out of her eyes. She's still dressed in her nightgown, and she looks at me suspiciously.

"Something's wrong. I feel like I'm missing something." She stares right at me, daring me to tell her the truth. But I can't. I keep my mouth shut, shaking my head and meeting Eden's calm stare. She's blissfully oblivious to her daughter's words.

"There's nothing wrong," I finally tell her, "You're right where you are supposed to be."

I say the words with conviction, but inside, my thoughts are faltering.

I don't say goodbye. Everly's glare is too focused on me, too intensely demanding for answers I don't want to give her.

Instead, I turn and walk out of Eden's house, temporarily leaving Everly behind with her mother. I'll give her a chance to calm down, then come back and bring her home with me.

Hopefully.

* * *

He returns for her in the same asshole-ish manner with which he took her away the first time.

His arrival is unannounced; he shows up in one of the large, gray Dauntless trucks that look like predators in the night. He easily jumps down from the doorway, and I watch him storm towards Johanna's office. He looks tired and irritated. Several men follow him, all dressed in the same dark color and all sporting the same scowl.

I hang back on the path, knowing they aren't looking for me. Or maybe they are; I can't quite be sure. I jump a bit when I hear Zander, and I catch sight of him pulling Everly towards the trucks. The kid has a strange fascination with any kind of vehicle, and the Dauntless trucks are probably the best things he's ever seen.

Everly shushes him, and she frowns at his impatience, pulling her arms tighter around herself. It's cold, and by the way she's dressed it seems the kid dragged her out of bed to come down here. It takes everything in me to stay still; I want to run and grab her, to shove her back inside and hide her until he's gone. I know he's here to collect her, and with utter despair I realize there is nothing I can do to stop him.

"You're actively participating in a kidnapping if you aren't willing to hand her over." His words slice through the air. He sounds angry, furious at Johanna's hesitation. I'm sure she's confused; I had handed her a note with Eric's name on it, asking for Everly to be allowed to return here. Now he's standing in front of her, angrily demanding she hand his wife back over.

"You're exceeding your jurisdiction," Johanna answers him, but I can tell she's unsure of what's going on. She sounds mildly insulted, as though he's slighting her intelligence with some stupid game. The look on Eric's face tells me he doesn't give two fucks about jurisdiction.

"Where is she?" Eric snarls, not bothered in the least by Johanna's reluctance. From where I stand, I am able to watch Everly tilting her head at the commotion, and I see the exact moment she spots him.

Her whole body turns towards him, as though she's drawn to the very sound of his voice.

"You don't know him." I want to scream the words at her. I want to remind her she doesn't remember him, and she may never remember.

I don't get the chance.

They see each other, their stares meeting through the chaos.

"Everly." He says her name sharply, his tone betraying his brash confidence. He sounds like any other man who's ever felt the pain of being torn apart from his loved one — desperate and frantic.

"What are you doing here?" He stomps over to her, the sneer falling from his face, and he looks almost human in this moment. He stops directly in front of her and my vision blurs when he reaches for her. Eric grabs her roughly, yanking her against him, his head bowed down to look at her. She hasn't said anything yet, but I can tell she's looking up at him. "I thought Evelyn killed you," he says lowly, and he tries to draw her even further into him. They're impossibly close; one of her hands is now on his chest, her fingers splayed over his heart. The other is in his hair, and she leans into him, rising up to stare at him.

Eric leans his head down, and I turn away.

I don't need to see him kiss her, and I don't need to see her realize who he is. I told her nothing about him, but it obviously doesn't matter. I nearly trip as I rush away, heading into the thicket of trees behind the stables. I move as quickly as I can, not wanting to see her for one more second.

I don't feel anything but the painful burn in my lungs and the hot anger that mixes through my veins.

She was mine, so very briefly. But without a doubt, I know that she never will be again.

* * *

I pay little attention to the things that go on around me.

People seem to come and go; the days crawl by at a mind-numbingly slow pace, and the nights all but come to a standstill. There are too many that stretch on endlessly — and I begin to think of leaving for good. It would be easy to slip away from this mess of a faction and never look back. It wouldn't matter if I left here; I officially have nothing keeping me in Amity. I've turned all my friends into the Amity version of enemies. They are polite to my face, ever-concerned about my wellbeing, but they harbor a high dislike of my actions. My attitudes. The expressions on my face.

And it's all because of her.

Everly.

She's done this to me.

It wouldn't be so painful had I never had her back again. For just a fleeting moment, she was mine once more, the Dauntless beliefs scrubbed clean from her mind. I allowed myself to have a flicker of hope that maybe we'd have again all that we once had. Maybe she wouldn't recover her memories of why she left Amity, of her life with Eric, of her time away from here. I even thought she'd finally be happy here.

But it wasn't real. Not even close. The touch of her head against my shoulder, the way she slept beside me for one painfully quick night — the intimacies I reveled in were nothing more than the unconscious actions of a chemically-soaked Everly who wasn't quite aware of what she was doing. She wasn't even lucid enough to realize where she was, who I was, or why she should stay with me. And to make it worse, even in her drugged and disoriented state, she'd done nothing but run from me.

Staying in Amity only made it worse. It would have been better if I had left, but now there was really no point.

Sure, I could head back to factionless. But Evelyn had uprooted her army, and the remaining factionless weren't anything to write home about. They were even more shifty and uneasy, far more distrusting of everyone after Evelyn's attempt to recruit them. They'd watched her lose to Eric; they'd watched her run away, scared that he'd come after her and obliterate her in the exact same manner he'd taken out most of her army.

So instead I stay here, trying to keep to myself and ignoring the painful urge to just run as far as I can.

* * *

She returns to Amity looking once again like the wife Eric wants her be. Gone are the sleep-messed hair and the soft dress I'd last seen her in. Her uniform matches his, just as before: dark jacket and boots, and her hair is pulled up and back, almost mimicking the sharpness of his.

They walk through the snow together, her arm brushing against his while his eyes narrow in distaste at the snow falling around them. The incoming storm is bad, one of the worst we've had in a while, and it shows no signs of letting up anytime soon. For a sickening moment I'm curious why they are here, just what brought them out here. Something pricks at the back of my neck, and I wonder if Evelyn is nearby.

Everly and Eric march past the Dome, their boots crunching over the wet snow. Neither of them are looking in my direction, but I can faintly hear Eric muttering about needing to contact Max. I listen to the whine in his voice when he talks about the trains not running, and in one simultaneously terrible and wonderful moment, I realize they're stuck here.

* * *

It snows on and on until it finally doesn't.

I spent the past few days hanging around the kitchens to keep myself busy. I didn't have anything else to do, and sitting at home alone made me too restless. It gave me too much time to think, too many ideas about confronting the two of them and letting Everly have it. So I forced myself to help out for a few hours each day, busying myself with cooking for the faction as best we could.

I don't see Eric or Everly.

Someone is assigned to bring them their meals, as though they are some sort of royalty who can't be bothered to walk over here. But then I realize it's possible that no one is supposed to know they are here. Maybe after everything that happened, their security is a high priority.

That thought makes me snort.

It's not long before Nadine returns from dropping off their breakfast, and she's positively beaming.

"How romantic is it that they're stuck here? They haven't even left their room since they got here." Her words are sugary and lovesick at the very idea, and they force the anger to burn in my veins again. She's talking about Eric and Everly, of course, the last two people I want to think about. I try to ignore the flashes that burst into my mind, but they won't stop. I can see them now: Everly's dark hair across his chest, his hands on her bare skin, her eyes gazing up at him.

"Landon…hey, uh, I'll finish up here."

Ben is suddenly beside me, his face full of worry. His eyes are trained on the knife in my hand, and I realize I've been rather violently chopping the carrots without looking at them. I stare at him blankly, annoyance rushing through me. "What?" My words come out as a sharp bark. Ben shrugs and forces a smile, and I can clearly see it doesn't reach his eyes.

"It's cool, dude. You can take a break." Ben reaches his hand out hesitantly. I realize I'm still holding the knife with the blade pointed at him. I take a second to lower it.

"Sure." I set the knife on the counter, and wipe my hands on my pants before I take a step back.

Ben doesn't say anything else. He gingerly takes the knife and resumes chopping carrots, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.

"Think it'll stop snowing today?" he asks offhandedly. I don't need his fake conversation, so I shrug and walk away. His shoulders relax a fraction, and I realize he's nervous around me. Everyone in this faction seems to think I'm one second away from snapping.

Maybe I am.

I head out of the kitchens with a glare on my face, and kick at the wet slush on the ground.

It does stop snowing that afternoon, but I don't like it. The skies remain dark, and I have the sudden, sinking feeling I'll see Everly before she leaves.

* * *

The train is quiet and cold.

I don't deserve to be here, under some sort of faux arrest by him, but I could see no way out. I stand my ground under his dark stare, his grey eyes so intense that I worry he might pop a blood vessel if he doesn't blink. He stands rigidly, with his shoulders squared, ready to pummel me into the ground at a moment's notice, all because I didn't return his precious wife to him.

I smirk.

I can't help it. I take great joy in the fact that Eric, the almighty leader of Dauntless, had to feel a speck of discomfort in his life. I'm sure her absence was shocking to him; it's now crystal clear that he holds some odd type of affection for her, more than I ever could have imagined possible from the idiot. It's obvious her disappearance wrecked him, left him reeling. And now, I want him to feel it all over again. I ought to shove her from the train, watch her body fall to the ground as we round yet another corner, just so he can feel that terrible pain again.

The thoughts take me by surprise; I've never once thought about hurting Everly. I've never once raised my hand to her. On the contrary, she has: she's shoved me, punched me in the face, and all but stabbed me in the back by marrying him. I watch her stand next to him, her eyes moving between Eric and me, as though she isn't sure who to watch. She finally stares straight ahead, the prettiness now gone from her eyes.

She finally speaks, her voice ever-familiar.

"Eric." She says his name, but I don't think he hears her; he's too busy glaring at me, his head cocked to the side. I use her attention to my advantage.

"I don't see why I'm under investigation," I declare, shoving my hands into my pockets. "I did nothing but look out for you, Everly."

Everly's reaction is expected. She looks furious, her face falling as she shakes her head at me. "You didn't exactly look out for me when you dragged me to Amity instead of returning me to my home. You knew damned well where you should have taken me."

Her words mean nothing to me. They are garbage, fed to her by him. I did what was best for her, and somewhere deep down, she knows it. "I wouldn't expect someone like you to understand. You're different now. Less Everly, and more Eric's puppet, whatever kind of wife he wanted you to be. Seems like it worked out for you, anyway."

She doesn't answer, but I watch her tighten into herself. Her spine straightens, and her shoulders tense. She's clearly been brainwashed enough that no matter what anyone tells her, it won't matter unless it comes from Eric. I turn to him, noting the way he seems to be even more irritated now. I'm sure he'd prefer that no one dare speak to his wife.

"Does it bother you, Eric?" I say the words slowly, smirking at his stony face. "Does it bother you that I knew where she was, that Everly was safe right beside me, while you sat in Dauntless sulking over her death?"

His fists clench.

"Were you lonely? Spending your nights by yourself, all alone in the bed you used to share with Everly?" I make sure I look right at him. I watch him stiffen, my words scratching at his skin. I can tell I've hit the right nerve. I suddenly wonder how much of her life before him does he know about. Has she told him of our times together? It must make him irate to think of another man with his wife.

"Thinking of all those nights you spent with her that suddenly meant nothing."

I pause, making sure he's looking right at me.

"It was nice having your wife back in my bed."

Eric's head snaps to Everly as her entire face changes to reflect horror.

I cross my arms and I can't help but sneer. Eric has never looked nastier than in this moment. I can tell she didn't tell him that little detail. It doesn't matter the innocence of the situation, the blinding fact that I'm the one that put her in my bed when she had no way to know she shouldn't be there. It won't matter. He looks almost hurt, and I find myself wanting to laugh at him.

"Eric, ignore him." She pulls on his arm, desperately trying to move him closer to her. "His words mean nothing."

I smirk at her. She couldn't move him if she tried, and she simply looks miserable now. It's clear she neglected to tell him everything about her time back in Amity. I decide to throw her a bone. "You really should listen to your little wife, Eric."

At my words she turns her stare to me, her eyes darkening.

"Fuck off, Landon," she snaps.

For a moment I'm taken aback. She looks outraged, almost violent. "You had no right to do what you did. And you're a terrible person for ever going through with anything Evelyn had her hands in."

Her words sting, and I shrug them off. I'm not a terrible person, not by a long shot. If she wants to talk about terrible people, we could start with her husband.

"You're no better than her," she continues harshly, letting go of Eric's arm. She takes steps towards me, and she glares right at me. "Did you ever stop to think that maybe I didn't want to go back to Amity? That what she asked you to do was wrong? I'm sorry I ever trusted you."

My actions surprise even me.

I move forward, and I shove her back forcefully.

I do it without really thinking. I'm too blinded by the hatred that's coming from her, too furious at her for believing everything she's been told. I open my mouth to yell at her, to tell her how blind she is to what's going on and to what's been done to her, but I don't get the chance.

Eric lunges forward, and he grasps my throat, pinning me against the wall of the train.

For a moment there is nothing but an uncomfortable compression, but then it quickly turns painful. His grip is hot and tight, his fingers digging into my skin. I struggle a moment, trying to swallow, but I can't.

Eric's grip tightens. "I told you. Come at my wife again, and I'd make sure it was your last day," Eric snarls. He holds me in place, his fingers digging further into my neck until I can feel his blunt nails on my skin. There is a dull ringing in my ears now and I try to blink it away.

I can barely make out Everly now. She looks panicked, her eyes wide as she lunges for Eric just as the train makes a sharp turn. She stumbles, finally grabbing onto his arm uselessly.

"Everly, let go of me," Eric tells her, his voice deadly calm. He keeps his stare on me. Up close his eyes are very grey, icy even, and there is not a drop of remorse in them.

"Eric, stop. He's not worth it. We'll take him back to Dauntless and you can deal with him there," she pleads with him, but he doesn't lessen his grip. Her words are pointless. My heart is beating rapidly now, and my lungs are constricting painfully, burning desperately for air. I try to focus on Eric, but my vision is starting to blur, and I can't quite keep my eyes on him.

I shouldn't give up entirely, though. I know what he's doing, and I know he's about to use me to make his final point. He knows, I think almost dreamily. He knows that she won't be safe until Evelyn is gone, and I am just one more piece in Evelyn's game. I should tell him, let him know she'll come back for her.

I try to pry Eric's fingers off my throat. I claw at his hands, but it's becoming hard to focus on anything, and too much effort to try.

The train veers sharply again, yet Eric stays still. He doesn't move, he simply continues to crush my throat. Moments tick by before Eric seems to loosen his hold the slightest bit. The relief is temporary, but the look in Eric's eyes tells me he's toying with me.

I use the opportunity to sneer at him.

"Fuck you," I rasp out.

And just like that, I know it's all over. I feel his grip tighten one final time, much tighter than I'd think possible. He rips his other arm out of Everly's grip and wraps it around my head, grabbing my jaw. I feel him jerk my head hard in a sideways, upward direction. I hear a loud crack as my tendons snap and bones crunch. For a second there is a sharp burst of intense pain, and then everything starts to darken. I can't breathe, can't see, can't move.

"Eric!" How terrible it is that her sweet, pretty voice saying _his_ name will be the last thing I ever hear.

It echoes until I don't hear anything anymore.


	6. Chapter 6

Major thanks to **BK2U** for all your hard work during the editing process of this and all 37 versions of it. Your help, and especially your timeline skills, are majorly appreciated.

* * *

Tuesday just might be my least favorite day of the week.

It's not because it's the day our drink specials rotate, and it's not because it's the day that we always seem to be short-staffed, nor is it because I always seem to get the most difficult tables possible as a result. And it's not even because I typically work open to close, with only a few quick minutes to steal some onion rings off a plate in between juggling tables.

It's because it's the unofficial meeting day of the Eric Coulter fan club.

My introduction to Eric and company had been swift. I passed my initiation reasonably unscathed, and received a stark warning to steer clear of all of them unless I was directly involved with something they needed. Eric, of course, is terrifying enough on his own. Jason and Rylan, presumably his only buddies, may seem like harmless goofballs — and not shockingly, they're far nicer than Eric — but they hold a fierce loyalty to their friend. It's wisest to tread lightly around them, too.

At first, working Tuesdays really hadn't been that bad. I was usually able to avoid Eric and his two friends. No one who works at Clyde's really wants to wait on them; it makes all of us nervous when they sit here for hours on end until Eric decides he's made his presence well enough felt. Early on, I found it easy to pick up a few extra tables and look completely slammed, forcing our manager, Paul, to hand them off to one of the newer servers. But eventually he caught on to me, and as a consequence, I've gotten them every single time in the past few months.

Tonight, as I tie my apron around my waist, I'm thrown off to see that even though the bar is mostly deserted, there are three other servers on duty — despite the typically slow start to the evening. I quickly decide to take advantage of the downtime, lazily making a sandwich and sitting and chatting with one of the newer girls.

"Good idea to eat now," Paul announces, and I note that he seems to be in a great mood.

I ought to know better by now.

"Because table three is for you."

Paul says the words with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. I raise an eyebrow in response, wondering just exactly what is awaiting me at table three. More already drunk members in search of something to eat? Max and Arlene, here to sit and drink wine while they talk about God knows what? Or maybe Jeanine the Erudite Ice Queen, lowering her standards substantially to sit amongst the riffraff in our darkly lit bar, sipping delicately at some sparkling water?

My gaze wanders over to the calendar and my eyes widen in pure horror. Somehow, I've managed to forget what day it is.

Tuesday.

Crap.

It's gotta be motherfucking Eric and his band of merry idiots.

Eric is unquestionably the worst one of this group. The pretentious fuck likes to sit there and down high-priced liquors to drown his sorrows. He might even be worse than Jeanine. There's just something about the way his eyes narrow, the way his words are barked, and the way he seems to ooze disdain at those of us who bring him his drinks.

"Tell me it's not Eric," I ask wearily, pretending that I'm not ready to throw my sandwich at his head. "With his friends?"

Paul just shrugs and smiles innocently. "Don't take too long. You know they don't like to wait."

I walk out of the back room with a huff and catch sight of them from across the bar. They are seated at table three, taking up far too much space with their obnoxious air of superiority. Because all three of them hold some degree of leadership position, everyone is expected to bestow upon them the utmost respect no matter what they do.

Like right now.

I walk over and patiently wait to the side of them, watching Eric's friend snicker as Eric's eyes flit around the bar with dark interest, landing on a girl seated by herself. I watch him smirk, shifting in his chair to a slightly less aggressive posture.

She notices his stare, of course.

He's intense, but he plays it off disinterestedly, as though he finds her presence in the bar highly entertaining. She looks back at him, blinking coyly in an attempt to be seductive; a second later, she looks ready to crawl into a hole when he laughs at her.

"Too easy," he tosses out, and he finally turns to look at me. He eyes me up and down, finding nothing of any particular interest to him, and tightens his jaw. "Do you need something?"

"Hi, yes, I'm waiting to see if you want to order something to drink." I say the words very patiently, pretending that I'm not in any hurry to get away from him. Up close, Eric is as sharp-looking as his personality. His cheekbones are too high, his nose is too slanted, and his hair is too harshly cut. I'm sorely tempted to ask if someone did it on purpose, or if they accidentally came close to shaving his head and just told him it was a cool style.

He reclines back in his chair and stares at me until my spine hurts.

"I'll have whatever they're having."

He says the words dismissively, his attention zeroed back in on the girl he'd been mocking just moments earlier. The brave soul is attempting to walk past their table without attracting any further attention, but she's unsuccessful. Eric reaches out with a startlingly fast reflex, catching her by her wrist. She stumbles a bit, nearly tripping over in her tall shoes, but she still manages to look graceful as she regains her composure.

"Sit," he instructs, letting go of her wrist, and Bambi obediently takes the empty seat beside him.

I slink away when she looks up at me, slow delight spreading across her face at the honor of being handpicked by Eric.

By the time I bring them their third round of drinks, his friends look red-faced, sloppy, and cheerful. I try to focus on them, speaking only to Eric if it's absolutely necessary. He's not even remotely drunk; if I weren't personally serving him glasses of hard liquor, I wouldn't even know he'd been drinking tonight.

"Here you go." I set the glasses down in front of them, noting the way the girl seems ready to die of excitement. Eric appears to have a vested interest in her, though it's so subtle that it's almost undetectable. The only real difference I can see is that his head is tilted at her, his eyes dark and his lips curling up when she shifts closer to him. She's brave — stupid, but brave — in her desire to join him at his table. Only a few things happen when one is in his presence. She's either about to get her ass handed to her, or he's taking her home for the night to get some ass.

She isn't the first girl I've seen this happen with, but it's definitely a rare sight. Normally, Eric is nothing but focused, never really exposing himself in such a personal manner. And the gossip that one would think would follow such an event is scant, almost nonexistent. As much as I don't like him, I can't deny that I'm curious about what goes on behind his closed doors. But there has been nothing, not even a whisper of anyone's nights with him.

I leave his table without another word, throwing one final look at the girl. She's pretty, tall and blonde, somehow managing to be a golden shade of tan even in this dark bar. I have half a mind to pull her aside and inform her they're all blonde, each of the girls I've seen him with. None of them has ever come back here, especially not on Tuesdays.

But it's not really my business.

I approach table eight, setting down their two drinks with ease, and I notice that this table is even more fixated on Eric. Lauren is watching him with a hint of disgust on her face, and I wonder if she's secretly wishing it could be her sitting next to him. But then I look at her, her long dark hair and the sneer on her face, and I quickly dismiss that thought.

She's way too smart to be involved with the likes of Eric.

She accepts the drinks wordlessly, taking a long sip without looking away from him, before she finally looks up at me.

"Can you grab me a water, too?"

I nod, making sure I don't look at him as I make my way into the back. I find an empty glass and head to the counter to fill it up, almost jumping at the noise behind me.

"You can be first out tonight. Just make sure your prep work for tomorrow is done."

Paul's words surprise me enough that I almost spill the glass of water in my hand. I dump a few pieces of ice in it, and throw a lime wedge on the side.

"Awesome, thanks." I want to tell him it's the least he could do after sticking me with Eric's table yet again, but I know Paul would rather be kicked out of Dauntless than wait on Eric like some sort of servant.

"Anything exciting happening out there?" Paul tries to sound casual, and it makes me want to remind him he could happily walk his ass out there and take a look around the bar. There's plenty going on that he could see if he didn't spend all his free time thinking up drink ideas.

"Not a thing," I lie smugly, and I take Lauren her water without giving Paul any sort of clue as to what he's missing out on.

A half an hour later, I've finished prepping the silverware and napkins, and I've filled all the salt and pepper shakers. I approach Eric's table, happy to hand Jason the bill for their drinks. He's the only one left at the table, and while he looks mildly confused, he's also cheerfully finishing off their nachos. Rylan returns from the restroom, flopping down into the chair beside him in a graceless, slightly drunken manner. He smirks when he sees Eric's empty chair, and he kicks it to the side with a loud screech.

"He took her with him?" he asks Jason, watching him fumble with the total. "When did they leave?"

I watch as Jason triumphantly signs his name, and he hands the bill out to me. I rather enjoy when he pays since he seems to have no concept of math. My tip is always far larger than expected, but well-earned in my mind.

"Few minutes ago. It seems like he's gonna have fun with this one." Jason smiles up at me. He's not half-bad looking, but he's an idiot, and that ruins any appeal that he may have. "Shame, though. I was hoping he'd find a nice girl to settle down with, and instead he chose the blondest one he could find tonight." He snickers into his chips, then chokes in some sort of fitting moment of bad karma.

Rylan busts out laughing and roughly slaps his friend on the back. "Never happen."

"Thanks," Jason wheezes, then stops and shakes his head. "This one just told him she works on one of the outer posts. Six weeks on, six weeks off. She goes back out there tomorrow." Jason leans back in his chair and shakes his head. "But Jeanine must be on his ass. He only seems to take them home when he needs some stress relief."

Rylan nods, noticing I'm still standing there; I smile quickly, like I've been waiting for him to acknowledge me.

"Anything else before you guys go? I thought maybe you'd like a drink on the house?"

Paul will kill me, but he'd also kill for the information I just overheard. He has a warped fascination with anything related to Eric, and this information is just the kind of thing he'd love to hear.

To my relief, they both shake their heads. "Thanks, Lucy," Rylan offers up and he glances at his friend. "You ready to go?"

Jason nods, and when they both stand to leave, I smile as I realize my night is finally over. I shove all thoughts of Eric and his blonde friend out of my mind and happily clock out, relieved that I don't have to be back here for two whole days.

* * *

Today, Eric comes in with Jeanine.

I'm standing behind the counter, wiping down glasses and trying to decide just how brave I feel right now. I could run into the office and demand to take my break before Paul realizes they are here, or I could hang back and see if anyone else innocently wanders out there. I can already imagine their eager expression fading away as they realize the trap they've walked into. Eric might be one thing — I can handle his dark glares and his snapped commands — but adding Jeanine to that equation makes my stomach hurt.

There have been plenty of rumors that Eric is helping her with some sort of project, and that his help could earn him a high reward. His authority in Dauntless only seems to grow as time goes on; it's obvious that aligning himself with her has benefits, but I have no idea what they're doing. I've never had much interest in interfactional politics, but apparently Eric does.

The two of them walk along silently, tablets in hand, while Jeanine glances around with utter contempt. Her icy stare never falters as she takes in the dimly lit atmosphere and finally selects a table. She sits down gingerly, as though the she finds the chairs offensive, crossing her legs at her ankles, her dark shoes shiny and her hair perfectly coifed.

"You're up," Paul hisses from the doorway, and I notice he's lost all hint of his morbid obsession with Eric. But I know why: he can't stand Jeanine. I found out after working here for a few months that, shockingly enough, Paul is originally from Erudite. He didn't do exceptionally well there; in fact, he barely passed his classes and certainly was not on any track to be a stellar scientist or lab researcher. To him, Dauntless must have seemed like the perfect faction — a party compared to all the studying and endless research he would have had to endure in Erudite. So, he hightailed it out of there and never looked back. To this day, he still holds some major resentment anytime someone so much as mentions Erudite. Seeing the High Priestess herself seated in a royal blue dress in his bar is definitely not thrilling him.

"I'm on break," I throw out, wondering whether he'll believe me or not. Right now it's just him, a couple of other servers who are brand new, and me in here, and Paul would rather die than take their order.

"You can take a break that's twice as long later," he suggests quickly, but I know it's not really a suggestion. I shake my head, still debating on what to do. While I have no real authority over him, I could just clock myself out. When I look over at Paul, he looks sort of red as he waits to see if I really will take my break.

"Lucy, please. I have an order to do. Just take the table and don't fuck this one up," he warns me, as though I'm about to storm over there and throw a drink in Jeanine's face.

I want to remind Paul that he doesn't have an order to do. Not to mention the fact that it's lunch time — he's supposed to be out here in case we get some sort of rush, because the genius scheduled only me and the two newbies to work today. And he just did the order, with my help, two days ago.

But I don't.

"Fine."

I decide to be gracious, and I square my shoulders as I walk over to drop off menus to Jeanine and Eric. Jeanine greets me, more out of routine than anything else, and Eric barely grunts in my direction. He's already got a tablet out in front of him, and he's quickly tapping on the screen. I catch sight of a list of names and percentages before it flashes to a screen of the training room, then back to the numbers. He frowns, his lips curling downward as he waits for Jeanine to order a drink. He looks as disagreeable as ever, and he tilts his head to the side impatiently as she carefully debates ordering water or sparkling water.

By the time they've eaten half of their lunches — salads for both, no dressing for Jeanine — Eric looks bored. Jeanine has spent most of the time talking in a low voice, her attention fully on him. She looks impatient as well, but for a different reason. While he's clearly not as invested in whatever she's telling him as she'd like, he also looks like skeptical, like something just doesn't add up.

"Are you thinking this won't be an issue? That we shouldn't actively be pursuing such results?" She says the words slowly, each one sharper than the next. Her eyes dig into him, waiting for him to respond.

I drop off another water for her, letting my eyes graze over her tablet. She's looking at a page with all sorts of graphs on it.

Eric shrugs, glancing over at me for a split second, disinterest written all over his face. "How frequently is this occurring?"

Jeanine swallows down some of her water and stares at him, noting his waning attention to her. "Eric, am I interrupting something? You seem preoccupied today."

He doesn't answer, but I take it as my cue to slip away before either of them notices I'm still standing there, freely spying on whatever they are working on. I'm sort of interested in what's brought her down here, but I can't really figure out the charts or graphs in such brief glimpses.

I head back to the bar where I quickly pull up their lunch bill, comping both meals and waiting for the receipt to print. From where I stand I can still see Eric; he's looking at something on his tablet while Jeanine pulls up something on her phone. For a moment they both sit there, each engrossed in their technology, until I see Eric's spine suddenly stiffen.

He leans back in his chair, spreading his legs wider, and his head dips down again, one of his hands coming to rest on his temple.

Then I watch as he angrily pushes at the screen, aggravation radiating off of him.

"Shit," he snaps, to no one in particular, but Jeanine's head jerks up at the sound. "I'll have to send you an email about what we went over. I can narrow it down by tomorrow."

"We aren't done here," Jeanine counters icily, but Eric has clearly grown agitated. He taps at the screen again, and as I walk closer to their table, I catch sight of the video feed he's pulled up. It's once again focused on the feed from the training room, though I can't really make out anything except Four's class sparring with each other. It's not until I am right behind him that I catch sight of two dark-haired initiates fighting; one gets punched in the head and stomach then collapses to the mat, while the other continues to rain punches down on the hapless victim.

It looks like a typical class to me.

Eric stands up so fast he nearly knocks into me. He adjusts the collar on his jacket roughly, and quickly powers off the tablet, tossing it back onto the table. "I'll email you. Max said he's waiting in his office whenever you're ready," he reiterates, and he glances at me as though he's just realized I'm there. I'm awkwardly holding the tab in my hand, but it doesn't really matter if either of them sign it.

"Can I get you anything else?" My words come out sounding far weaker than I'd hoped. He glowers at my apparent stupidity, then stalks off quickly without looking back at either of us. I try not to look at Jeanine, but it's impossible; her face is pinched in total displeasure, and her lips are pressed into a fine line. She smiles at me, something tight and fake, before pushing her chair back and setting her napkin on the table. I wonder if anyone has ever walked out on a meeting with her before.

"Thank you," she murmurs, smoothing down the side of her dress. She looks around the room once, and when she's satisfied no one saw Eric stand up and leave in the middle of their conversation, she cocks her head back at me. "I can see myself out."

I nod at her, unsure of what else to say, and I watch as she gathers her things. She takes both tablets, a few papers she brought along, and her phone, all before she walks away with her head held high.

I stare back at the table, wondering just what was so upsetting that it made Eric storm out of here.

* * *

When I show up for work on Tuesday, I can feel that the air in Clyde's is oddly warm and sticky. I make the split-second decision that I want my hair off my neck, and after I clock in, I slip into the back to pull it up.

"Oh good, you're here. Are you clocked in?" Paul asks cheerfully, watching me braid my hair to the side. I don't want to spend the night with it in my face, so I decide to try this instead. "And good thing you put your hair up. It looked hideous when you walked in."

I smile scathingly at him, hoping he can pick up on the condescending nature of it; I don't answer him until my hair is finally finished.

"I see I'm in for yet another night of your witty jokes," I respond, adjusting my hair one final time. I'm not really in the mood for him tonight because I already know what's coming my way. No doubt we'll end up being short-staffed since the initiates just survived phase one of training, and it should be loads of fun to watch them flood in here and get completely wasted now that they've had their first taste of the hellish fear simulation phase.

"I was being serious," Paul retorts, shoving past me and motioning at a few of the other servers. The back kitchen is crowded today, but for once everyone is sort of milling around, not really doing anything. "Sayre, Liz, you guys can take off. Pamela, give me another fifteen and we'll see if it picks up."

"You're sending them all home?" I cock my eyebrow at him, wondering if he's lost his mind. Part of me doesn't care since the busier it is, the more I'll make. But the other part of me would like to be able to go to the bathroom at some point during the night.

"It's been really quiet so far. I've got you and two others still on. I think it'll be fine. I can always help out, if need be."

"You _are_ funny tonight," I snort, pretending that Paul didn't just try to justify sending our staff home by saying he'd help out. I'd have more luck convincing Max to hand out drinks than Paul.

But by some miracle, it turns out he's right.

The night is dead.

By six, I've wiped down nearly every table in the bar, I've restocked anything that could possibly need to be restocked, I've eaten my weight in cheese fries, and I've listened to Paul tell me just how much he can bench press no less than five flipping times.

"So last Friday, I think I got up to like, maybe one-ten, maybe one-fifteen…"

I contemplate killing him, maybe shoving one of these fries down his throat, but that thought vanishes when I see Rylan and Jason walk in. For once, my spirits soar at the sight of them. They soar even higher because, despite the fact that it's Tuesday, they are alone and there's no sign of Eric anywhere.

Truth be told, it's hard to fathom how either one of them got into any sort of leadership position in Dauntless. They seem like total idiots. The two of them are always together, laughing and joking and mostly screwing around. The fact that Eric even tolerates them is surprising enough; his actually being friends with them is almost incomprehensible.

And lucky me, I've been stuck serving Eric and his friends on a fairly frequent basis, for which I'd like to strangle Paul.

Tonight, though, I couldn't be more delighted to see the pair of them.

"Next time aim for two-ten. I'll be back," I inform Paul, never so happy to have a table to wait on before in my entire life. I smile widely at Jason and Rylan. "Can I get you guys something to drink?" I greet them with more enthusiasm than normal, grateful that they have saved me from listening to Paul's endless tales of his pathetic fitness routine.

"Two beers, please. But can you grab us the kind with the green label?" Jason asks cheerfully, and I nearly skip back to the bar, relieved to have something to do. When I get there, Nick is waiting for me, his hair half pulled up and half falling in his face.

"I heard him," Nick tells me, pushing some hair out of his eyes. I wait patiently while he searches for their drinks, jumping when Paul magically appears next to me.

"Where's Coulter?" he inquires nosily, and I scowl at him for daring to say his name out loud. I don't want Paul to jinx it; the last thing I really want is to deal with Eric sauntering in here and deciding he wants to hang out and scowl for the next few hours.

"Who cares?" I answer, elbowing him out of the way. "Probably off admiring his own reflection in the mirror."

"He does have dreamy eyes," Paul muses, and both Nick and I turn to stare at him.

"Creepy that you would notice that, man," Nick says. He raises an eyebrow at me, handing me two dark amber-colored bottles. I like Nick; he is one of the few transfers from my class that never bent under the pressure of trying to secure a spot in the rankings. I was delighted when I learned he would be working here, quickly discovering he had little patience for Dauntless drama, the same as me. "I heard he's training again. Probably busy with that shit," Nick informs us and shrugs, all of his interest in our conversation gone. He walks away without another word.

"There you go. Your best friend is off training." I leave Paul standing there, a funny expression crossing his face. He looks confused, but he brushes it off by hightailing it back to his office, where I hope he stays for the rest of the night. I don't give Eric another thought.

By the time I return to Jason and Rylan's table, my night has picked up a little bit, and by that I mean three more tables have walked in.

I alternate between checking on Jason and Rylan and the three other groups that have found seats. They are all regulars, unwinding after a long day and easily pleased by anything with a high alcohol content. It all works to keep me entertained on this unusually slow Tuesday night, and it gives me just enough time to listen in on Rylan's bitching. He seems deeply wounded that his friend isn't here, and he's surprisingly vocal about it.

"He blew us off. Again," he grumbles as I walk closer, his foot lightly kicking the leg on the table. For once, Rylan is the one who looks a little butt hurt. The rumor is that he's closer to Eric than Jason is, and he's taking the sudden absence of his best buddy a bit too hard. "He said he's too busy to come by."

"Well, maybe he really is busy. I doubt he forgot we would be having drinks."

I try to hide my smirk as I set down their appetizer. They sound like a group of teenage girls, upset over someone ruining their plans.

"He didn't forget. It's because he's with her." Rylan rolls his eyes in annoyance. "He's always with her now."

My interest is piqued the tiniest bit — not quite the full-blown Paul level of interest, but enough to make me linger for just a moment. I do wonder who Eric is occupied with now, because I haven't seen him here since he stormed out on Jeanine.

"Well, you have to admit, she _is_ pretty," Jason interrupts, looking pensive.

"True, she is. I just don't get why he's spending so much extra time on her when he didn't even want to train her." Rylan sounds jealous, his eyes narrowing for a moment.

"Yeah, remember how Eric almost lost his shit when Max told him he had to train her? He thought Max did it just to spite him," Jason responds with a laugh.

"But he sure seems to be fine with it now." Rylan's grumpiness has given way to curiosity, and he takes a long swig of his beer. "I think he likes that she has to do whatever he says. He said it's just him and her, all day long."

"Did you text him?" Jason asks seriously.

Rylan shakes his head. "I haven't texted him yet. He just said he was busy. He didn't tell me what he was doing. But I think he makes her train at night, too."

I hand them a few napkins, patiently waiting to ask if they want to order anything else. They politely decline, and I linger for just a moment so I can overhear what they're saying. It's easy since my next table is just a few feet over and the customers are still browsing their menus.

"Well, it wasn't his choice to train her. Maybe he had another meeting with Max. Maybe he's trying to get rid of her. I'm not so sure she'll last if she's gotta fight against initiates from the other training classes." Jason offers up this helpful information, and I slink away wondering just who this unlucky person is. I heard some awful stories about Eric from back when he oversaw the entire initiate training program, so the idea of him training a sole initiate is horrifying.

I'm lost in my thoughts about the training classes when I round the corner and walk right into Paul.

"Where is he? Is he really training a class? I thought what's-his-name trained them?" Paul immediately begins interrogating me, and in that moment, I realize he desperately needs a hobby.

"The other trainer besides Lauren? Four — his name is Four. And you yourself served him a beer just a few weeks ago. Four always trains the transfer classes. I don't know why Eric would be doing any training, but from what I hear, he's only training one person."

Paul grunts in response, seemingly unsatisfied with so little information.

"You could always go ask them, you know," I inform him, and he shakes his head.

"I need to look over the menus. I think we need new appetizers," he answers offhandedly, and I wave him away, knowing he's probably leaving to go sit in his office and take a nap.

Half an hour later, I'm at a standstill with Jason and Rylan. Their mood has eased up and they no longer seem so terribly insulted that Eric didn't join them; in fact, they're a little giddy over whoever they are texting.

"He said, 'Whatever is good. I'll be here'," Rylan reads triumphantly; he slams his phone down on the table so hard I'm surprised it doesn't shatter. "I knew he was home."

I can only imagine they are talking about Eric, and the entire situation amuses me. I had no idea his friends were so fascinated by him. It seems like everyone in Dauntless has some great interest in him, while Eric couldn't possibly care less about a single person here.

"We should go." Jason nudges Rylan, his face reflecting his excitement. "I bet she's there with him. Maybe we can see her."

"OK. So, let's head there now," Rylan suggests, staring at the drinks I've just handed them. "Should we bring him something? So we aren't showing up empty-handed?"

"Good idea," Jason agrees, and he glances at their messy table. "Maybe a drink?" Jason's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Hey wait, can we take these with us?"

He glances up at me and I nod my head, wondering just how this will pan out for them. I'm sure they've been to their friend's apartment before, but crashing it to check out his trainee doesn't sound like such a brilliant plan. And what the hell is his trainee doing in his apartment anyway? When I went through initiation, I certainly didn't stay in any of the leaders' apartments.

"Sure. I'll bring your tab over. You want another round to go?" I ask politely, hoping this doesn't drive Eric back down here for more beer.

Rylan looks at me, his face lighting up with a grin. "Actually, could you bring us six more to go, please?"

"You got it," I answer cheerfully, and I head back to punch in their tab.

"Are they leaving already?" Paul pries as he strolls up to me, all six bottles in his hand. He hands them to me and I glance at them suspiciously, wondering how he got the order so fast. He must catch my curious look, because he defensively tells me he sent Nick on break.

"Yeah, they're leaving," I tell him sweetly, and he looks sorely disappointed as he walks away.

I print out their tab, heading back to their table with their drinks and bill, and hand it all over to Rylan. I stand there for a minute while he scribbles his name, adding enough points to make this entire night worthwhile.

"Thank you," he tells me, far more enthused now that he'll get to see not just Eric, but also the magical creature he's been assigned to work with, too. "Have a good night, Lucy."

I'm gone before the pair of them walk away. I head back into the kitchen, sneaking past Paul's office until I find the door that leads to the hallway. I bum a cigarette off of Jesse, despite the fact that we've all been reprimanded for smoking in the poorly ventilated hallways, and I can't help but wonder about whoever it is that Eric is training.

* * *

I scowl at the ticket Paul slams into my hand, noting the way he seems to take pleasure in pissing me off with this shit. "Again?" I ask him, exasperated. It's been a busy night and I don't need Paul dumping the worst tables on me. Lately, he's enjoyed assigning me any table that seems to be trouble. Or extra drunk. Or full of the only people in Dauntless who can't hold their liquor. I've wiped up more vomit lately than I care to ever encounter again in my life.

"Yep. This one is all yours," Paul announces with a tight smirk, turning to continue cleaning a table.

His words alone tell me that my next table likely includes Eric and that my lucky streak has just run out. As fate would have it, he hasn't been coming here lately, which has been lovely for the atmosphere. People tip better when they aren't stressed out merely because our most feared leader is sitting in the same room as them.

Paul elbows me, jerking me back to reality.

"I bailed you out last time. You can handle this table," Paul announces a little tersely, and I notice that there's a weird expression on his face. I can't figure out why he looks so intense. He swallows and his eyes seem fixed on the table he's just wiped down. "Good luck. Don't forget to offer them today's specials."

"You didn't bail me out. You sent me home!" I protest, but Paul ignores me. "Fine, I'll handle whatever table has you so scared that you've been rendered speechless."

I don't hear his snort until I'm almost at the table.

I was right.

Of course it's Eric's table. I just knew it when Paul started acting so damned pleased with himself, but now I can also see the source of his uneasiness — Eric isn't exactly alone, and he's scowling.

The sight of Eric with his friends isn't an unusual one in Dauntless, nor is it unusual here in Clyde's. But even after all the times I've been stuck serving them, my stomach still churns as I walk over, especially with the addition of some new people to their group.

Surprisingly, Eric is sitting here rather quietly, listening to his buddies and their shrill, green-haired friend talk. He sits with his arm slung around a dark-haired companion who seems happy to be sitting next to him. She must be his newest conquest, though this one doesn't match up at all to his usual taste in women.

I eye her carefully, and I realize with a start that I know who she must be.

Everly, Eric's sole initiate in a year when she's the only girl to have transferred to Dauntless.

Despite Eric's efforts to keep her training entirely private, there isn't a single person in this faction who isn't aware of her existence. I avert my eyes from the two of them; seeing them together in person like this is strange. I've never thought of Eric as anything other than a threat, someone dangerous and deadly who might snap without any advance notice. I'd purposely chosen a position in Clyde's that would keep me happy and away from any sort of political drama — or so I'd thought.

Instead, the most dangerous and feared man in Dauntless is right here in front of me again after a long absence, and he's with the girl he's been training. I've never seen her before today, I've only heard about her from eavesdropping on Jason and Rylan, and from the endless rumors that my friends gleefully pass along. They tell me things about her that don't interest me at all, like she's pretty, she's much smaller than him, and she seems to actually like him.

I don't take what they say very seriously, giving the girl much more credit than that. She's clearly smart enough to know how to pass his training: give him her full attention, smile in his general direction while simultaneously counting how many hours she has left before she can escape, and blithely pretend he's the best thing Dauntless has to offer.

I squint at her from a distance, trying to size her up before I go over there. In person, she is nothing like what I had imagined she would be. She is even smaller than I was told; in fact, she's nearly dwarfed by Eric as they sit there together, and her hair looks soft and pretty even from a distance. She has big eyes that flit over his friends easily, and she has a sweet smile that she flashes at him a few times. She's nothing like the girls he's sat with before; she seems comfortable and content, not at all nervous or excited to be chosen the way those others had all behaved around him.

As I approach their table, I watch her lean into him with a small smile on her face while his friends laugh loudly. I also note the way Eric keeps her against his side, and I realize with a shock that my friends were absolutely right and I was dead wrong. Everly might well be smart enough to fake her way through training with Eric, but her warmth towards him seems nothing but genuine.

* * *

"Death in the Afternoon. We'll only have it for the next few days." I parrot the words to their table, making sure I focus on Jason, Rylan, and the one with the troll hair. They'd motioned me over with slightly panicked looks on their faces, and I was prepared for them to tell me someone had been violently sick. Instead, they just want to order more drinks.

"But it's nighttime!" The green-haired girl is giggling, and I resist the urge tell her it doesn't really matter when he drinks it — it'll still taste like crap. Jason debates over the drink, and I wait patiently for him to make this very important decision.

Out of the corner of my eye I catch sight of Everly, her gaze fixed on the drink in front of her. Eric has his head bent down next to her, and he's saying something in her ear, something that he wants only her to hear. I notice that his arm has slipped off from around her shoulders, and he shifts himself even closer to her.

In a flash, Everly's cheeks turn pink, and I swear she's suddenly having a hard time sitting there. I wonder if maybe she _was_ just pretending to like him earlier, and I watch her more carefully. She shifts uncomfortably before she looks up at him, her eyes widening.

Asshole.

He's probably hissed that it's time for them to leave, that he's had enough of being out in public with her. He seems to be very private, and whatever weird trainer-initiate relationship they have, he undoubtedly doesn't want it exposed for the world to see.

I leave after Jason finally decides on his drink order, and when I return, Eric and Everly are gone.

* * *

On Friday, I find myself enthusiastically wiping down the bar and counting down the minutes until eight pm. For once, I am finally off for an entire weekend; I'm not on call, and I have no intention of being anywhere near Clyde's once my shift is over.

The bar is busy tonight, but Fridays tend to be that way. I've made the decision to enjoy it, because all that stands between me and two days of freedom is two measly hours. I cheerfully take a few drink orders, even smiling at Paul as he rounds the corner with a determined looked on his face. He's been unnaturally busy, and the lack of noise from him has been wonderful.

"Lucy, there you are! I need your assistance for a minute." He walks over to me, his eyes frantically searching the crowd for something. They land on the fourth booth, and I try to peer out over the heads of the men sitting along the bar, but it's useless. There are too many people; they're starting to stack up at the bar, and I hope whatever Paul needs doesn't interfere with these drink orders.

"What's up?" I ask him, wondering what on earth he's looking for now. I quickly fill up three drinks, sliding them onto a napkin and across the bar.

"Go check on booth four. I think I lost Chloe on her break." He sounds exasperated, and I roll my eyes.

"Where is she?" I quickly round up three more glasses and slide them over to Nick. I'm not his normal bar back, but sometimes I help him out when we're slammed.

Paul shrugs and gestures towards the outside. "I sent her to eat something because she said she was hungry, and I think she lost track of time."

"Great." I sigh, still determined not to let this ruin my Friday. "I'll head over there in a minute."

Paul fidgets, then rudely shoves me out of the way. "Go now. They've been waiting a bit."

I sigh again, but dutifully head in the direction of booth four. It takes me all of three seconds to decide to murder Paul the next time he falls asleep in his office.

There in booth four, all by his lonesome self, sits Eric.

For once, he is not dressed in his usual uniform. Today he's a bit more casual: a black dress shirt and dark jeans, and only half a scowl on his face. His head is bent down as he peers at the silver tablet in his hand, and he frowns even harder at whatever he's reading. I nearly stop dead in my tracks when I glance down at his hands, noticing the dark band on his ring finger.

He's _married?!_

I can only think of one reason why a Dauntless male would be wearing a ring that hasn't been pierced through some part of his skin, but this definitely isn't _that_ kind of ring. It looks elegant and expensive on his hand, and the dark metal seems to suit him. But no one in this faction really wears a wedding ring; the tradition is far more common to those in Erudite, or perhaps Candor. It seems unimaginable to me that Eric, of all people, would be the kind of guy to wear a public symbol advertising his marital status.

I try to wrap my brain around this fact — that the most frightening, intimidating, and downright dangerous man in Dauntless, Eric Coulter, is actually married. I want to yell for Paul, force him to come see this in person, but the bar is way too crowded for him to hear me. So I suck it up, gingerly heading towards Eric's table.

He barely glances up as he orders two drinks.

It's one of his usual orders: something strong and nasty-tasting for him, and a sugary soda for whoever is meeting him. He quickly resumes whatever he is reading and doesn't look up again, even when I ask if he would like to order something to eat.

"I'm meeting someone."

He barks the words at me, angrily tapping back a reply on the shiny tablet in front of him.

"I'll come back," I tell him, and I leave before he can snap anything else at me. I head to the back immediately, hoping to God that Chloe returns from her break soon so I'm not stuck with Eric for the next two hours. My heart soars as my luck picks up; Chloe rounds the corner, retying her apron.

"Sorry. I lost my watch and didn't know what time it was," she apologizes, smoothing her hair down. She looks relaxed and happy, not overly concerned that she's late. I smile tightly. I wait for Paul to appear and ream her out for being late, but instead he just nods distractedly, his face flushed.

"You're fine. Go on and get back out there. Lucy, you can just finish his table." Paul sounds out of breath, panting as though he's just dashed over here to catch me. I narrow my eyes at him, and he smiles. "It would be weird to change servers suddenly. Eric doesn't like weird."

"How would you even know what Eric finds weird?" I ask Paul, eyeing the rack of knives to my right. It looks like they've just been washed, and they all look very sharp. Paul notices, and he takes a considerable step back.

"Thanks for agreeing. I'll keep you in mind for Employee of the Month," he blurts out, and with that he's gone, disappearing back into the crowd before I can protest.

Fuck.

I decide to take matters into my own hands and speed this whole process up a bit. Hopefully Eric's guest has shown up so I can recite some specials, convince them to order drinks and dinner at the same time, and still be out of here by eight.

I go over my plan in my head as I approach his table confidently, his drink order in hand, but I'm abruptly at a loss for words when I realize who's sitting next to him.

Everly.

In some hideously girly, very pink dress.

I have to really look at her to make sure I'm seeing what I think I'm seeing.

She's sitting right next to him despite the other side of the booth being entirely empty. Her legs are touching his, and she's peering up at him as he reads something in his hands. It's not his tablet; as I look closer I can see it's a card, with lots of loopy handwriting all over it. Eric looks annoyed at whatever it says — his lips are pressed together tightly and he swallows as he glances at her.

A rush of embarrassment for her floods through me.

She's clearly lost her mind. It's obvious that his little initiate has developed some sort of terrible crush on Eric and has very stupidly decided that tonight would be the perfect time to tell him. I can just picture her sitting somewhere, grinning giddily while writing something very sweet and romantic on the card for him. Thinking that this would be the way to finally win over big, bad Eric Coulter. That he'll suddenly realize the error of his ways, lose his tough guy persona, and fawn all over her and her obnoxiously frilly dress.

I manage to set their drinks down without spilling them.

She's still peering up at him, but then she sort of slumps over to stare at her drink. She doesn't look at all like she belongs here. Her hair is all over the place, spilling onto his sleeve and nearly covering up the straps of her sundress, and she seems far smaller than before.

"I'll be back to take your order."

I almost can't look at her because I know what's coming. I wait for Eric to laugh in her face, to shove her away from him, gleefully mocking her fragile little feelings and her stupidly brave attempt to declare how she feels.

I glance back at them once I'm safely a few tables away, nearly crashing into the guy seated there. Eric's head is bent down to touch hers, and he's whispering something in her ear. He tugs on her hair, twirling it around his finger and I watch as she looks back up at him and smiles. She reaches for her drink with both hands, and that's when I see it.

The enormous ring on her finger.

The very sparkly ring that is just a shade lighter than his, glittering even in the middle of this dull lighting.

She's not just his initiate, not just some fun project he's been working on, not even just his casual fling for the night.

He's actually gone and _married_ her.

He's made her his freaking wife, and now he's sitting here, kissing the side of her cheek like this is completely normal for him.

My mouth drops open and I damned near forget how to breathe.

I bolt to the back, crashing right into Paul's chest. My eyes are wide and I feel like I've just witnessed some huge, shocking event. I try to slow down enough to tell Paul what I just saw, but he quickly shoves me back out onto the floor.

"Chloe just accidentally spilled beer all over tables two and three. I'll be back."

I stand there, watching him breeze past Eric's table.

In his hurry, he completely misses Eric toying with the strap on Everly's dress with a very pleased expression on his face. I grow hot, realizing Eric is very familiar with Everly. His fingers skirt over her exposed shoulder, and I can tell this isn't anything new between them.

I collect myself as best as I can before I walk back to their booth, smiling as I stop at the end, and try very hard not to look at the card. I try, but it's irresistible. He's set it on the table in front of them, and I can only make out a few words on it.

Mostly just the part that says 'Love, Everly'.

* * *

The weather sucks.

I shiver in Paul's office, pulling my jacket tighter to me, trying to stay warm. The compound always runs in some sort of energy efficient mode, but today it seems colder than ever. The snow has been relentless; it has built up at all the entryways, and it sneaks in through the doors whenever it can. Because the hallways are made of stone, they seem to absorb the cold, keeping the temperature permanently freezing.

I leisurely peruse the new schedule, noting that I'll be working every single shift with Paul, and only two of the shifts will be with the newer employees. At least it looks like I'll be busy.

"Lucy!" Paul's voice interrupts my thoughts, forcing me to walk out into the bar. I pull my sleeves down further; it seems colder out here, even though that's not possible.

"Who's in section two?" Paul asks me as he sets a plate down on the counter. I notice he's made tater tots, and they must belong to one of the few stragglers dining here at this hour.

"Not me," I tell him irritably. I'm not in charge of the schedule, and I hate when Paul tries to use me as some sort of assistant to him.

He glares at me, but his eyes suddenly flash to the door and he freezes.

Of course, on the coldest day of the month so far, Eric would bring Everly into Clyde's. They walk in together, and despite the tight grip he's got on her hand, she looks despondent. I instantly feel angry at him, wondering just what he did to make her look like that. I have half a mind to yank her aside and tell her she can hang out here until she figures out how to get away from him. I have no idea where this sudden, odd protectiveness is coming from, but it only increases as she wipes at her eyes with one hand while the other is clutching an envelope.

I've concluded after waiting on her several times that Everly is pretty likeable on her own.

She's always smiley and polite, and seemingly very sweet. I've tried hard to picture her and Eric together at home, but I just can't. I can't imagine this pretty girl sitting beside him on a couch, sleeping beside him in bed, or even kissing him goodnight. He seems too intense, too terrifyingly angry to even sit beside safely.

Yet here she is, very much married to him — and very much upset by something.

They sit down at their usual booth, Eric sliding in first and Everly all but collapsing herself into him. The bar is mostly empty, and everyone else is seated at the open tables, so there really isn't anyone around them to witness what's going on. He's talking to her, his head close to hers while her eyes are stuck on the table. I watch her nod miserably, and she tries to smile up at him.

"What did he do?" My voice comes out angry, clipped and short, and Paul looks up in surprise.

"Who, Eric?" He cocks his head at them, then frowns. "Nothing. Well, at least not that I know of. But I did hear that her dad died a little bit ago. That's probably why she looks so sad. There's not much anyone can do for that." Paul shrugs, shoving a tater tot in his mouth. "Some overly chatty woman named Linda called early this afternoon to reserve their booth, and she mentioned that it's Everly's birthday today."

Oh.

Well, that's shitty.

I haven't thought of my parents in forever, but there's no lingering guilt there. I left with a clean split; they hadn't wanted me to stay, and I hadn't wanted to stay. But Everly's situation is clearly different. She's obviously torn up over the loss of her father, and celebrating her birthday seems to be the last thing on either of their minds.

I eye her carefully.

For once she isn't clothed like she's just wandered out of Eric's bedroom in whatever dress he likes to see her in. And she's not dressed in that hideous pink outfit she wore when they celebrated Eric's birthday, either. Instead, she's got on dark leggings and a dark hoodie. She's tucked her feet beneath her, and she leans into Eric as she opens up the envelope.

"Give them a minute," Paul tells me, rearranging the tater tots so no one will know he's eaten four or five. "They look busy."

They do look busy. Everly is quietly reading the card Eric has given her, and Eric is watching her out of the corner of his eye. He looks frustrated, impatient for her to finish, and uncomfortable when she finally sets it down and turns to look at him.

She smiles, but this time it's not as sad as before. She glances back at the card he's given her, and they talk quietly. Paul and I both watch them intently, and I find myself reaching for one of the tater tots he's neatly arranged on the plate. He doesn't notice, thankfully, and we both lean over the bar, silent in our joint observation of the pair.

Eric reaches forward, pushing Everly's hair out of her face so he can see her. I watch him smile tightly, his lips barely turning up a centimeter, but it changes his whole face completely. He doesn't look as terrifying as usual.

At least not until his eyes flick over to Paul and me, standing together and eating someone else's food, watching him and his wife as though they are the most fascinating things we've ever seen. His face immediately turns furious, and his mouth opens to verbally assault us for daring to stick our noses into this private moment with his wife.

He doesn't get the chance — Everly reaches up to kiss him, his expression changing to surprise as she pulls him down, until all I can see is her dark hair and his blonde hair. I jump away so fast that I hit my elbow, silently swearing as I duck through the door and into the back. Paul follows after me, looking slightly pale and sweaty.

"I think we should both go home," he announces nervously, and I nod my head furiously.

"We can send Abbey out to take their order," I tell him, rubbing at my arm. My elbow hurts, but I'll take it over daring to go anywhere near Eric right now.

Paul nods, and for the first time ever, he agrees with me.

* * *

I stand beside Paul, leaning against the back wall, and I try to stop myself from quitting on the spot. I need this job, and not just because most of the jobs in Dauntless aren't all that glamorous. There are plenty of active duty positions, plenty of jobs full of storming around and protecting the faction, but I actually like working at Clyde's. I don't want to wear a heavy patrol uniform unless absolutely necessary. And I don't want to wake up before the sun rises; that's normally when I am heading to bed. So this job at Clyde's is too perfect for me to throw away just because Paul seems to enjoy torturing me.

But today might be enough to push me over the edge.

"Just... I dunno, maybe serve him something without any alcohol in it and don't tell him," Paul offers up in between drags of his cigarette. "He might not notice."

I stare at him in disbelief and shake my head. "He'll notice. I'm not getting shoved into the chasm because I served him a mocktail."

Paul looks back at me and he looks unusually guilty. "I really am sorry, Lucy."

I glare at him.

This isn't entirely his fault, not by a long shot.

It's that weird factionless lady's fault. She took it upon herself to ever so graciously kidnap Eric's wife. And not even with a full on attack; she just used an oversized, sneaky initiate who could pass for an eighteen-year-old if you didn't look too closely. One that waited until the time was right, and who simply picked up Everly and carried her out of Dauntless, all while everyone else was at lunch.

I'd been shocked when I heard the news. Over time, my opinion of Everly had evolved; the more I saw her, the more I realized she wasn't exactly spending her days sitting around and waiting for Eric to come home. She was actually working here; she had been assigned a trainer position, and while I didn't know if it was temporary or not, it was clear that she could take care of herself.

So when I heard that the jerk took her after brutally rendering her somewhat unconscious, my stomach had knotted up. I'd found myself uneasy at the news, a bit distracted as I thought about her at the oddest times. For some reason it bothered me, really bothered me, that they just took her right out from under our noses.

Now, just a little over a week later, Eric is dealing with the devastating news that he will never get her back.

"He's miserable," I tell Paul quietly, and I feel like I'm confessing some sort of secret. "Today isn't making it any better."

Paul nods. "I know. Stupid fucking idea to celebrate her life."

I stare at him and sigh my agreement.

The celebration has been going on all day. I was repulsed when I found out they were even having one. It seems to me that Eric's wife deserves better than a sloppy, drunken afternoon where everyone mindlessly salutes her as brave. It's hypocritical, even. While a lot of people knew who she was, not many of them actually knew her. And there is little doubt that Eric would not want anyone to celebrate her, at least not like this.

"He's been here for two hours now. I think we should cut him off," I tell Paul firmly, unsurprised when he shakes his head.

"Not our place." Paul looks down at his boots and shrugs. "He's a big guy. He's fine."

But he isn't fine, not even a little bit.

Eric had walked in here with an air of utter despair about him, flanked by his two friends. Up close he was pale and exhausted-looking, and his eyes looked glassy and angry. His hair was combed like someone had shown up and reminded him he needed to look presentable, and he wasn't even dressed in his normal uniform. His friends had sat down at a table with him, their eyes nervous and worried, and stuck right on him.

Like they expected him to bolt.

I'd nearly stabbed Paul when I realized he wasn't about to set foot near their table. Gone was his rapt fascination with Eric, and in its place was a healthy dose of fear. It's never easy to deal with Eric when he's demanding things and barking orders at those around him. But seeing him like this, sort of wilted, has made me genuinely uncomfortable.

So Paul had full on shoved me past the bar, slammed a pad of paper into my hand, and roughly told me that the table was all mine.

It took me a full two minutes to work up the courage to even approach their table. Jason and Rylan both spotted me, awkwardly perched by the new bar back, my eyes fixed on them. One of them tried to smile, pleading silently for me to come take their order right away, maybe lessening the time they'd actually spend here. I finally remembered that if I could be brave enough to jump off a roof into a pool of blackness, I could manage to take Eric's drink order.

It took a minute. He stared straight ahead at his friends, his gaze blank and uninterested. When he finally ordered his drink, something strong and bitter, his voice had been so low and rough that I almost couldn't hear him. It was missing the bark behind it, and instead of sounding nasty, he sounded defeated.

It threw me off so much that I almost forgot to write down his order.

But the more he drank, glass after glass of amber liquid poured down his throat, the more the nastiness emerged. It wasn't true nastiness, nor was it aimed at me. It was a deep kind of nasty hurt, one that seemed to seep out the longer he sat there. I felt for Jason and Rylan as they watched him, each one occasionally receiving the brunt of one of his cutting remarks. I don't think he actually meant to aim them at his friends, but their faces told me he wasn't making this easy.

By the time I decided to sneak out for a break, his words had returned to being sharp and dark, biting as he snarled an order. A few minutes ago he'd lifted his head to look up at me, and even in the dim lighting, I could tell he was miserable.

"I said 'another round'," he reiterated, staring directly at me with utter disdain. I nodded my head, unable to tell him that he really shouldn't have any more or he'd spend the rest of the night vomiting up his deeply buried feelings. His friends had glanced up at me, fresh concern flashing across their faces, and I wondered if they'd been assigned to keep him away from the celebration.

"He's really torn up over her. I guess I just never really expected him to have loved her all that much." I kick at a loose rock in front of me, trying to ignore the shitty, judgmental feeling creeping over me. I'd done nothing but think poorly of Eric, never stopping to consider he might have had actual feelings for Everly. "I think his friends are trying to get him to leave."

"What are you gonna do?" Paul asks, and I resist the urge to kick the rock at his head.

"You're the manager. You go tell one of them that we can't give him anything more to drink."

Paul stares at me like I've just said the dumbest thing in the entire world. "We're not responsible for how much they drink. In fact, we're supposed to encourage them to drink more. I mean, unless you think he's near alcohol poisoning..." Paul shrugs and tosses his cigarette to the ground. "We can call the infirmary. Have them send someone down…"

I shake my head furiously. "He's far too coherent for that. He's not wasted, but he's gonna have one hell of a hangover tomorrow. And I doubt he'd let any of them touch him."

"Not really our problem, kid." Paul grins at me, and stomps on the cigarette. "Just bring him the drinks and try not to say anything. One of his buddies can make sure he gets home alright."

I want to tell him that it's not that; I personally don't care how wasted Eric gets in the bar. It might be interesting to see him not so controlled, but that's not what's really bothering me: it's that he seems genuinely and very publicly crushed by the loss of his wife.

"Hey, you two on break or what? I got three orders of drinks sitting here," Nick yells from the doorframe, and he glares down at us.

"We're coming," Paul yells back, and the door slams shut with more force than necessary. "Jesus, someone tell him to unclench."

I don't say anything else; I simply walk back inside, and try to mentally prepare to bring Eric his next round of drinks.

* * *

A day later, Paul comes up with an idea that nearly makes me drop everything in my hands.

"Maybe we should name one of our drinks after her. Like, 'The Foreverly'." Paul is reclined back in his chair again, feet propped up on his desk, and I try to remember exactly why I volunteered to come in early.

"That's the stupidest and most inappropriate name for a drink I have ever heard," I tell him, tying the apron around my waist, hoping my voice sounds as condescending as possible.

"I put some real thought into it." Paul looks insulted, and I can see him thinking hard about something. "Don't be rude."

"I'm not being rude," I protest, reaching for the pad of paper in front of me. I skim it quickly, grateful that he hasn't already added it to our list of available specials. "I just don't think Eric will like it. And then he'll be in here, mad at whoever named a drink after his late wife." I pause and smile very sweetly at him. "And when he asks who made it up, do you really want me to tell him it was you?"

"Fine. Point taken." Paul nods, and he swings his feet off the desk. "And speaking of points, you still owe me three. I saw that soda you grabbed the other night."

"I'll pay you one point. You can consider the other two as payment for saving your life from your own dumbass ideas," I tell him, and I breeze out of his office before he can respond.

* * *

The hair on my neck stands up as a prickling sensation makes it way up my spine.

I stare at her, my fork paused in midair, unable to move.

I made the decision to stop at the dining hall for lunch before going in to work. It had sounded like a good idea, and it was. At this time of day, no one would really be down here yet. After selecting the most edible-looking meal I could find, I sat down and enjoyed a whole fifteen minutes of rare silence before everyone started filing in for lunch.

Including Everly.

She is escorted by Eric, his hand glued to hers until they stop at a table with two girls already seated there. I watch him reluctantly let go of her hand, his stare locked on her until she sits down and smiles at her friends. Only then does he take a step back, but with great unease. It's odd to see him unsure of himself, yet it's obvious that it's all because of her.

She's back.

Alive and very clearly not dead.

She mumbles something that must be a goodbye to him, smiling up at him with the same unease, the same nervousness that his own eyes reflect. He smiles tightly and heads out, back towards where they came in. She turns to look at her friends and seems overwhelmed when both girls start talking at the same time.

It's all a good distraction, because if she saw his face there's no doubt she'd stand up and go after him.

He looks back at her, not just once but a few times, his face not relaxing in the slightest. He looks torn, like he might just walk himself back to her table and sit down beside her.

He doesn't, of course.

Max appears beside him, and the two of them walk away, but not before Eric looks at her one final time.

* * *

"What is this?" I demand loudly, standing with my hands on my hips.

I'm staring at the printed schedule that hangs on the door of Paul's office. This one should look exactly like all of the others: multiple boxes with every server's name listed, their shifts neatly printed beside them, and the on call shifts sloppily highlighted. It's all routine, except there is a shift highlighted in an offensive shade of pink in the row next to my name.

"Why is this shift pink?" I ask him, undeterred by the way he's ignoring me by pretending to send out emails. "Paul!"

"Lucy, I'm busy. What are you yelling about?" He glances up at me with mock innocence, smiling as though I'm an idiot. "Do you need me to help you with your schedule?"

"Why is that shift pink?" I ask him, wondering why on Earth only my shift is highlighted.

"Because it's at a different location," Paul answers easily, and he turns back to the computer.

"A different location?" I ask him, and the exasperation is starting to grow by the second. "We only have one location. Have they suddenly decided to open up a second one that I'm not aware of?"

Paul waves me off with one hand. "Relax, it's nothing. Don't worry about it." He then turns to look at me and shoos me out of his office. "Lucy, be a dear and go ask Jesse if we need any more cheese before I send this order in."

I glare at him, taking a step back. "Fine, but I…"

He shuts the door in my face before I can finish my sentence. I huff as I walk away, nearly crashing into Jesse.

"We don't need any more cheese," he tells me very seriously, and he holds a spatula up at me. "I already told him that this morning, but I can tell him again."

"Great." I push past him, figuring I'll ask one of the other servers if they know what's going on.

Of course, it's just my luck that they don't.

* * *

The room is dreamily lit up with some dim lighting that gives off a soft, romantic glow.

I stand beside Paul, adjusting the collar of the black dress shirt I've been given to wear, and I try to take in everything around me. The room we are in is not well known; in fact, had Paul not walked me here, I'd never have known where I was going. I glance at the fancy tables with the silverware gleaming even in the low light, the flowers neatly arranged on the tables, and I can't help but think it all looks very out of place in Dauntless. I'm far more used to the inside of Clyde's: dark wooden tables accented with rusty metal. This place seems too fancy, too stuck up.

Which explains why Paul texted me seven times to remind me to wear dress shoes.

"You can take these to the second table. Make sure everyone gets one, and if they would prefer a different dressing, let me know." Quinten barks orders at us with military precision. I eye him and the rest of the staff carefully. We've all been selected — forced, more or less — to work at this combination leadership and surprise anniversary dinner. Max had pulled out whatever stops he could; he allowed Quinten to design a menu that didn't involve cold lunch meat, he'd let Arlene order flowers from Amity, and he'd taken it upon himself to make sure the entire staff was of his choosing — including me — despite the fact that I've never waited on him in my life.

Which leads me to believe that it was all the work of Paul.

"Don't drop anything, either." Quinten fixes his stern stare at me, and I bite back the urge to remind him that I spend my days carrying trays of liquids. Four salads won't exactly be a big challenge for me. I reach forward, grabbing the plates, and sigh internally.

"Table two?" I repeat, unsure of where table two really is, and he nods, his eyes still on me like a hawk.

I balance them easily, walking through the crowd with little trouble. I pass by a few people standing around and make a mental game out of figuring out which faction they're from. There's only a single flash of grey in the room, plenty of blacks and darker blacks, a smattering of blues, and far too many bright, cheery colors. I keep my face pleasant as I near the second table, walking behind the man in grey slacks and a grey shirt. Mere seconds ago I saw him talking with Eric and Everly, waiting patiently and deferentially as Everly elbowed her husband until Eric finally responded with marginal, forced politeness.

"He seems so darling. I haven't quite had the chance to go talk to him yet." The woman in front of me graciously accepts the salad plate from me, and her eyes look faraway. "I should offer up my congratulations."

The woman looks at me, speaking confidently, as though I should know and approve of whatever she is talking about doing. I shrug slightly as the leader of Amity shakes her head at her friend. They are both dressed in bright colors, jarring shades of red and pink.

"Not yet, Eden. We should let them eat first." Johanna pauses and looks up at the head table. "Eric and Everly haven't had a moment to themselves."

Eden frowns. "I haven't seen Everly in ages. And I barely know Eric. But he looks very handsome."

Oh boy.

I sneak a look over at Eric, noting that he doesn't look remotely darling. He is dressed up, though, but it only serves to make the scowl on his face look fancier.

Eden stands, and the man in grey offers her a napkin in an attempt to distract her. "Eden, maybe give them a second. I want to know more about what you were talking about before when you said this lettuce came from the northernmost fields."

I take my time handing Johanna Reyes her plate, listening to their very thrilling conversation about the salad and just what part of Amity it's been plucked from.

A short while later, I find myself watching a man in a royal blue dinner jacket as he stands beside the bar. I scrunch my nose up at him, immediately disliking the way he seems to be observing everything around him. He takes it all in while shoving his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, smiling politely when the bartender hands him a glass of wine.

How fancy of him.

I try not to roll my eyes at his chosen drink. It's something exclusive and overpriced, and he could probably tell me all about it if I asked him. He fidgets for a second, and I watch curiously as he moves to stand to the side of the bar, wine glass in hand. He sets it down and slides something out of his pocket, intently focused on what he's doing. I count in my head, keeping my stare fixed on the glass, and he stops pouring whatever is in the vial when I silently reach the number five.

What the fuck.

Whatever he poured in there is translucent enough to mix in, and if I hadn't just watched him sneakily pull the vial out of his pocket, I'd never have even noticed. He swirls it around a few times, casually checking out the room around him. There's not a soul besides me paying attention to him, and that's only because I'm standing here waiting for a drink order. He must be pleased with how well it's mixed, because he stops swirling the glass when he is approached by Everly. He smiles at her politely, and I immediately wonder who he is. She seems comfortable with him, so she must know him.

* * *

Their party is still going strong, though I wish it would end already.

I'd gotten here an hour beforehand and helped set up and prep, much to my displeasure. Paul had finally caved and smugly informed me he'd signed me up to help serve at this dinner, and my acidic glare still hadn't been enough to relay my hatred of the idea. Of course, it made sense that there would be a party in honor of their newly proclaimed marriage. I wasn't even opposed to serving them dinner, but being forced to wait on Eric and Everly's extended family and odd group of friends gave me an embarrassing feeling of servitude. Even her friends from Amity were invited to come: two brightly dressed airheads who had spent a lot of time gaping at things and ordering sparkling wine.

Not to be left out, there were Eric's own friends, both slaphappy and far too interested in their game of taking a shot every time Eric glared at someone. Someone must have dressed them for the occasion, reminding them that this was an honor to attend, because they both looked passably nice.

Then there were all the assorted others: leaders from Abnegation, Candor and Amity; members of Erudite, including a blonde woman who was watching everyone with the same sort of intensity as the man in the blue jacket; Arlene, her face so pleased that it made me curious as to why she was even here; and a few from Candor who were loudly discussing their thoughts on the décor.

It was enough to make me wish I'd chosen to work on the fence.

I'm getting impatient as I wait for the drink order to be arranged on a tray, and I turn to observe Everly and the Erudite man still talking to each other. Something nags at my mind, and I wonder if he's related to her somehow. He seems happy to be here, and especially thrilled to be talking with her. He grins several times, and he stands close to her, occasionally bending down to say something only she can hear.

"Tables three and four." The bartender, one of Paul's friends, slides the tray over to me. I count the drinks: three glasses of a dark wine, two beers, a soda, and two cocktails that look glittery. I thank him, sidestepping around Everly and Mr. Science, and head towards the table. I manage a small smile as I hand Jason and Rylan their beers, but they shake their heads at the glasses of wine.

"I think those are Karl's," Rylan offers up helpfully as he takes their beers, glancing back at whoever this Karl is. All I can see behind him is a clone of Eric: same build and same pleased expression on his face as he sits there, laughing with Everly's friends. I can only assume the glittery drinks belong to them.

"Thanks," I answer, and I can't ignore the troll-haired girl's squeal in Jason's general direction.

"Do you think Eric bought her that dress? It's so pretty!" She sounds jealous, and I follow her stare to Everly. She's walking across the room, probably back to her husband, smiling as she spots him.

"Um, I guess?" Jason sounds uninterested. I doubt he and Eric have ever discussed Eric's spending habits. I have no idea how much leaders are paid around here, but if her fancy dress tonight is any indication, Eric probably isn't hurting for points. "It's kind of… weird."

"Weird?" the troll shrieks, seriously insulted by Jason's lack of fashion sense. "It's beautiful! I saw it in the store the other day. Look how fitted it is."

I try not to laugh out loud as Jason squints at Everly in an attempt to see just how beautiful and fitted her dress is. She has returned to her seat next to Eric, and is now facing him, touching his arm. Her dress is very pretty, and far tighter than anything I would have imagined she'd wear. I'd even go so far as to say she looks different tonight, less like the young girl that normally sits beside him and more like the sort of wife one would expect Eric to parade around Dauntless.

"Maybe it shrank?" Jason offers up, his head cocked at an angle. "I don't know. I'm sure Eric likes it."

The green-haired one stares him down, disbelief all over her face. "You are an idiot," she huffs, and beside her Rylan cracks up.

"You're both idiots," he says cheerfully, and I take my wine and glittery cocktails and head to Karl's table before he can catch me agreeing with him.

* * *

Karl looks like a mini version of Eric, though there is nothing miniature about him.

He's reclined back in the chair, with his legs spread slightly apart, and he's grinning at the two girls that look deliriously thrilled to be sitting next to him. They've somehow managed to not sit with their own faction; the others from Amity are all chatting about lettuce still, but these girls aren't interested in that. They're desperate to hear any sort of detail about Dauntless, no matter how trivial.

And there's nothing more Dauntless than the person they're sitting next to.

"And you had to scale a wall?" The one with long blonde hair is gazing up at Karl, her eyes fixed on him. "How did you do that?"

"Easily," he answers confidently, and I have to blink a few times to remind myself that this isn't Eric in front of me. Up close he looks very similar — the same skin tone, same dirty blonde hair, same light eyes. But even though he is tall and imposing, there is an easiness about him that Eric doesn't possess.

"Wow. I've never scaled anything." She looks thoughtful, perhaps wondering if her life can be considered complete without ever being forced to risk death by climbing a very high fake wall. "That's so cool. Everything is cool here." She then looks up at me, and smiles widely. "Oh good! Our drinks are here!"

"I bet you'll think these are cool." I say the words before I can stop myself, but thankfully she doesn't hear me. She simply grins as I hand her and the darker-haired girl their drinks. They both thank me, and Karl takes one of the remaining glasses. I narrow my eyes at his fancy drink choice. He looks like the kind of guy that drinks raw eggs for breakfast, so I'm a bit surprised that he's ordered wine.

"Enjoy," I tell them, turning away just as I hear Karl start to tell one of the girls about the time his friend fell off the rock wall, taking Everly down with him. I kind of want to wait and hear the rest of this story; I'd love to know if Karl's friend is still alive, since Eric seems very touchy about anyone daring to come near Everly, but Paul waves me over, miming to me that we can take a smoke break now.

* * *

"The name is troubling, I have to agree. There's something strange about being called by a number." The man from Abnegation is standing outside, completely ruining my fifteen minutes of freedom from the party. I watch him clasp his hands in front of him, then unclasp them when the blonde-haired girl peers up at him.

"That's not his real name, though, correct?" I recognize her from earlier. Her blue dress is nearly as fitted as Everly's, and her pretty blonde hair clashes against the dullness of her friend's grey dress shirt. Well, in reality, they probably aren't friends. He seems to have escorted her here out of the kindness of his heart, and now he's waiting patiently while she takes a phone call. He's probably being selfless, ensuring that no one from Dauntless tries to kill her or make her scale a wall for fun.

I listen with as little interest as humanly possible; she okays something, telling them to make sure everything is signed out, and hangs up quickly. "Do you know him well?" Her interest is back on the man in front of her, bugging him to talk about Four. I only know who they're discussing because of his ridiculous name. Everyone knows who Four is, though I've never really had a reason to take any interest in him, especially since he doesn't frequent Clyde's all that much.

He shrugs. "I know his date very well. I was a little surprised to see her here."

"But not him?" Blondie presses, and shoves her phone into the clutch she's brought with her. "I don't know Four or his date. But I did notice Blythe certainly seemed to take great offense to him for some reason."

The man from Abnegation shakes his head and sighs. "Well, it seems she found it ridiculous and illogical to go by such a name. Had he said his name was anything else she likely wouldn't have paid any attention to him." He shifts his weight from foot to foot and nods at her. "I think we should head back. We don't want to miss out on the dinner."

She must agree; she walks away with him, neither of them noticing Paul or me standing to the side of the boxes in the hallway. We aren't really supposed to be smoking out here, but the closest exit is much farther away, and we were quick enough that no one would catch us.

"Who are they talking about?" I ask Paul, watching the two of them slip back through the door.

"Eric's mother," Paul announces once the door shuts. "I now see where he gets it."

"What? I didn't see her." I feel slighted when I realize I don't know who he's talking about, but my interest is piqued. "Where is she?"

Paul smirks. "How did you miss her? She's sitting right by her husband, who's next to Eric. Blonde hair. She's got the same glare on her face as Eric. Looks like she hates everyone. I get the feeling she's highly unimpressed by this whole event."

I look at him curiously, and he shrugs.

"You'll see her as soon as we go back inside. Which should be right now, before Quinten comes after us."

I follow after him, eager to check out Eric's mother.

* * *

When I finally lay eyes on her, I feel like the planets and the stars have aligned and everything about him suddenly makes perfect sense. She's sitting beside her husband with an unimpressed look on her face, and a half-full glass of wine in her hand. Her husband is watching her carefully, and every time she takes a sip of it, he visibly relaxes.

There is absolutely nothing nice about her; even from a distance I can feel her faint disgust at all of us. She looks at me with utter disdain when I set her meal down. The meal is fancier than anything I've ever served, but she grasps the plate and pushes it away from her as though the meal is offensive, inspecting it like I've spit on it.

"Blythe." Her husband snaps her name, and he shoves her plate back in front of her. "Stop." He seems annoyed with her childish behavior. For someone who acts so stuck up, I'd have thought she'd be a little more subtle with her hatred. He adjusts the cuffs on his sleeve, and frowns in her direction. "Eat your dinner."

She glares at him and picks up her fork gingerly. "Fine."

She eats a single bite, ignoring the dark look on her husband's face. She sets the fork down with a loud clank, and reaches for her wine, finishing it before she slams the glass down. "Happy now, Daniel?" she asks, and I can't help but wonder if she's always like this.

Daniel glances at the fancy watch on his wrist and forces himself to smile. "In a few minutes I will be," he murmurs quietly.

She sighs in exasperation. Before I can observe anything further, I realize Paul is frantically waving me over. I hope he's trying to tell me that he's cutting me loose and that I can sneak out of here early. Instead, he hands me two more plates and gleefully tells me they're for Eric and Everly.

I try not to grimace when I look over at them.

In a sickening display of affection, Eric's forehead is pressed up against Everly's and he's clenching his jaw as he whispers something to her. He kisses her quickly, then breaks away to stare at her.

My stomach turns over when I realize he's looking at her differently, totally unlike the way he ever looked at any of the others who came before her. It's as though he's memorizing her down to the last detail, utterly fascinated by the creature in front of him.

She smiles up at him, reaching to touch his cheek, and I try to look away before I see just how much she adores her husband.

* * *

Paul looks smug when I go to turn my apron in. I ignore him while I carefully tally up all the stuff that needs to be returned: my name tag, the pristine aprons that aren't from Clyde's, and the serving trays from today. Quinten carefully goes over everything I've handed him, then nods his approval.

"Thanks for your help tonight," he tells me, handing me a bag with two boxes in it. I look up at him, puzzled, and he smiles.

"Dinner."

"Thank you," I sigh gratefully, taking the bag and waving goodbye to him.

Before I can leave, Paul appears again, a satisfied expression on his face.

"How was your night?" he asks, squeezing past me. He's not exactly a small guy, and he stops behind me, towering over me. "You enjoy getting out of Clyde's for once?"

I shake my head, not taking the bait. "Fuck off, Paul. Thanks for making me the Coulter family's personal waitress. Highlight of my career."

Paul laughs loudly, and takes a step back. "You're welcome. Consider it an honor."

I roll my eyes at him.

It had been weird to serve Everly at the party meant to celebrate her anniversary. She had looked beyond happy that everyone was there, and there was little doubt that this meant the world to her. Eric hadn't looked so enthused, but it said a lot that he at least sat through it all. When he first walked through the door, the look on his face was priceless. I thought for sure he'd turn around and storm out.

"This whole thing was crazy," I say sourly.

Paul looks a bit guilty, but the look is replaced with a funny expression that looks a whole lot like jealousy. "I still think it's weird that she was his initiate. Kinda scandalous if you ask me."

I don't think it's that scandalous. I'm sure Eric isn't the first trainer to have fallen for an initiate, and he probably won't be the last. The shocker is that they've actually stayed married, and I'd even go so far as to say that they both look happy.

"Who cares? So he got her to marry him. He didn't really ask for anyone's approval," I point out.

Paul doesn't look deterred. "I just don't get _how_ he got her to marry him. She's pretty and quiet, and he's…you know…"

"A huge asshole?"

Paul snorts and I shake my head at him. "Next time they come into Clyde's, you take them. They aren't that exciting."

"Hey Lucy?" he calls out as I walk by, and I glance back at him over my shoulder.

"Yeah?" I throw back, not bothering to turn around.

"You still get to serve them. Managers don't wait tables."

* * *

Everly beams at Daniel when I drop off their menus.

I sigh heavily after I leave, disheartened that I know his first name now. I recognize him from the anniversary dinner, of course, so I'm well aware of who he is, though I would have been able to tell simply by his appearance: sharply parted hair, his suit jacket and his shirt neatly pressed, and his tie still perfectly in place. Eric's father makes me feel unkempt by contrast, my own shirt chosen from a rumpled pile of dark, fitted clothing, and my skirt far shorter than necessary.

He's seated across from her, and for the first time in a long time, she's minus her obnoxious husband.

"Thank you," he tells me easily, watching me set down a tumbler of dark bourbon for him and a soda for her. He smiles tightly at me, then turns his full attention back to her. He looks delighted by the sight of his daughter-in-law, she looks delighted by the sight of her father-in-law, and I'm just delighted that Eric isn't here.

For some reason, I feel intimidated and stupid around Daniel, and I rather dislike that feeling; the fact that Everly seems downright enthused that he's here further irritates me. I want to know how he got into Dauntless and how he can just sit here and eat dinner with her like he owns the place. I retreat back to the bar and brood, giving them a few minutes to look over their menus in peace.

I feel just a little bit bad when I come back to drop off our drink specials and realize I'm interrupting a very serious discussion between them. Daniel seems to have a hint of discomfort in his expression, which makes me wonder what they could be talking about. Everly looks up at him somewhat apologetically, then leans back against the booth.

"Daniel," she says his name softly, almost hesitantly, as I walk away. I make it only a single table away before I silently curse. I feel like Paul, itchy and desperate to hear what she's about to say. I mentally kick myself for my curiosity. Her life is no business of mine, and I really shouldn't care that Daniel is allowed to show up freely, or that Everly is allowed to dine with him like he's one of us.

When I return to take their orders, the pair of them are talking quietly. Daniel stops speaking when I arrive, and I can feel his gaze upon me as he eyes my piercings. He doesn't say anything about them, but it seems obvious that he doesn't approve. I leave to key in their orders as quickly as I can, eager to distance myself from his appraising eyes and their serious discussion.

The next time I pass by their booth, I notice that Daniel's drink glass is empty. I retrieve it and bring him a glass of water. By the time I'm ready to bring the food to their table, I've nearly forgotten about their intense conversation.

"Lucy! Order up!" Jesse yells from the kitchen, and I realize he's referring to Everly's and Daniel's dinners.

"Thank you," I tell him, and I glance around the back room. Everyone is busy, including our food runners. It's not a huge deal for me to take them their plates myself, but it's easier to pretend she isn't potentially discussing Eric if I don't have to go back there.

I head towards them, smiling at a few familiar faces along the way, and I stop right in front of their table. It's clear they are still totally engrossed in their talk, so I set the plates down quietly and leave them alone.

"Can I ask you a question?" I can hear Daniel talking, and I stall for a moment, my fingers grazing over the salt shaker on a table located just a few feet away from them. I stare at it intently, pretending I'm very interested in whether it should be refilled or not.

"Do you want to have a baby with Eric?"

I almost drop the salt shaker. I catch it just in time, not wanting it to shatter on the floor. That was definitely not what I was expecting him to ask her. Not at all.

I hear her response, innocently and sweetly young-sounding when she says 'yes'.

"Fuck," I mutter to myself, hastily setting the salt shaker down. I have the sudden urge to dash into the back and find Paul, yanking his head away from whatever paperwork he's doing to tell him what I just heard.

Then I remember he's scheduled me to close both next Friday and Saturday, so I keep my mouth shut, waiting for just the right moment to torture him with this information.

* * *

Daniel is a familiar sight these days. He's sat here a few times with Arlene, spending an hour or so at one of the tables, and they're back again today. He always has fancy socks on, and his hair is always just as perfect as Eric's.

Last time I checked, he and Arlene were deep in conversation, and I managed to catch the words 'Blythe' and 'unfortunate' spoken in tense tones. I don't want to bother them; it looks like whatever they are talking about is important, and it feels wrong to interrupt them.

So instead, I quietly drop off glasses of water and menus, and make direct eye contact so that they know I'm ready whenever they are.

"Lucy."

He calls out my name clearly, and I'm startled by the realization that he knows who I am. I had been fairly certain that I wasn't important enough to really be noticed by him, even though I'd caught his disapproving glances at my piercings and my clothes, as well as the way he seemed to narrow his eyes at them. But today he's smiling, despite the fact that it looks like it might be a bit forced.

"Can you grab a coffee for me, please?" He looks at Arlene, and I take note of her face. Her lips are pursed together into a fine line, and her hands are tightly clasped together. "Anything for you?" he asks.

She shakes her head no. "I've got to head back soon. I left Molly in charge and I told her I'd only be gone for a half hour." She sits up straight, and she sighs heavily. "Daniel, you need to be careful. Maybe space things out a bit more."

My dismissal isn't intentionally rude; Arlene is smart and practical, and she's simply making the most of their time. I head back to the kitchen to see if anyone's thought to make coffee today, and I nearly crash into Paul as I round the corner of the bar. My heart pounds like it's about to leap out of my chest, and I shove him roughly.

"What are you doing?" I ask him, throwing one hand up to my heart. "You scared the shit out of me."

He ignores me for a moment, then furiously shakes his head. "Quiet," he hisses, shoving me back a step. He cranes his head towards the table I just left, and I glare at him.

"You have issues," I tell him flatly, noting that his curiosity is now a full-blown obsession. I walk back into the kitchen and realize I'll have to make some coffee for our valued guest. I start the coffeemaker and decide to take a five-minute break while it brews.

My break is ruined when Paul appears, his face scrunched up.

"How can he just come here? Shouldn't he be back in Erudite, memorizing the dictionary?" I roll my eyes, but in all honesty, I am a little intrigued with how he gets in here. It isn't easy to just visit another faction. I'd only left Dauntless a few times, and each time it had been a pain in the ass.

"He holds some prestigious medical position. I think he must come to check up on the infirmary," I tell Paul, who narrows his eyes suspiciously. "He seems to know Arlene really well. She's originally from Erudite, too."

I've only actually been seen by Arlene in the infirmary once. She's terrifying in a way that makes me never want to go back, but that's true of anyone from Erudite. It's easy to feel stupid in her presence. I vowed never to go back unless I was bleeding to death. Maybe not even then.

"I think he's plotting something," Paul announces, sitting down on the crate beside me. I roll my eyes and take a bite of the quesadilla I'd asked Jesse to make for me.

"Everyone's plotting something. Remember Jeanine? And that crazy chick from the factionless?" I retort, balancing my plate on my knee. "That was a fun meeting we all attended."

Paul glances at me out of the corner of his eye and sighs. "No, like something personal. I couldn't hear what he was saying."

"It's probably not meant for you to hear." I don't quite understand his rapt fascination with Eric's father, but I decide to be nice for a minute and give in. "Maybe he's having issues at home. I mean, his wife certainly seems like a piece of work. Maybe she doesn't like Everly."

"Maybe," Paul responds, and I can tell he's thinking it over. "Everly isn't very offensive, though. I don't see any reason why someone wouldn't like her."

I stare at him for a moment, thinking of several minor reasons why someone might not like Eric's wife. At the last faction meeting, Eric had made it very clear that everyone should demonstrate the utmost respect for her. He'd also announced she was on track to be the next leader of our faction. There had been a few murmurs of surprise at that one. It was a hard idea to swallow for those who'd barely noticed when he surreptitiously held her hand during her training, but then abruptly learned he had quietly married her.

I think the word 'unfair' might be an accurate description.

And there's also the fact that she is really freaking young to be leading our faction into anything.

But it doesn't really make her unlikeable.

"She isn't offensive. I bet Eric's mom thinks she's too simple and unsophisticated for a man of his stature. I bet there's no one she'd approve of." I hear the ding of the coffeemaker, and I hand Paul my plate. "You could always ask Eric. Tell him his dad seems a little stressed out."

Paul snorts. He takes the plate and shoves the rest of my lunch in his mouth. "You owe seven points for that, by the way."

I ignore him, letting the door shut behind me as I walk back inside.

* * *

Daniel seems deep in thought as he waits patiently in their favorite booth. By the time they finally arrive, his expression has relaxed and he smiles at them.

Eric and Everly are the ones who look thrown off — Everly's pretty face is filled with concern, and Eric's is a mask of annoyance. For a moment I think he might be furious with her, and I wonder if this will be it, the moment he snaps and she realizes just exactly who she's married to.

But it doesn't happen.

His eyes soften when he looks at her, and he seems to swallow his words back a few times. The bits and pieces of their conversation seem to be relatively normal, but after what seems like years of observing people's interactions, I can tell something is wrong.

I drop off their dinners with a quick announcement that I'll be back with ketchup. No one really looks up, but I look down at just the right moment.

Daniel's phone lights up several times in rapid succession. It's beside him on the booth, and the light is what catches my eye. I return with the ketchup, noting it's still beside him. I glance at it surreptitiously, noting the name that appears again and again.

It's the same name that flashed before, someone seemingly determined to get a hold of him.

Blythe.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thanks for your patience for this outtake! I came back from California and wound up with the stomach flu, and posting this got pushed way back. So sorry for the delay :)

Thank you so much to **BK2U** & **Societalfailure** for your tremendous help with this. I appreciate everything you guys have done and talked me through!

* * *

The first time I pay attention to him, more attention than just a passing glance in the hallways, is the day he forces the girl over the chasm.

I hear about it secondhand, whispered amongst my own class, their words dripping with a hint of new fear. It happened so quickly, stunning those who witnessed it. He walked alongside her with his hand on her back, but not to trick her into thinking he understood her weakness. Because he didn't, and he wouldn't. Ever. No, he did it to encourage her to let her guard down for just a minute, enough time for him to easily guide her where he wanted, letting her pick her own fate. The one that forced her to climb out over the rushing river, her life dangling from a water-slicked rail and placed into her own sweaty hands.

I saw it all on the monitors, hours after I dismissed my own class. They'd scampered off, fearing that he might storm through our class looking for his next victim. They'd needn't have worried; he didn't look back after Christina was pulled up from the rails, gasping for air as her shoulders shook. He had other things to do, things more important now that he'd proven just how we operate here.

The sight had left my own lungs burning, tightly and painfully, until I tore my eyes away from the screen.

Eric had proven a few things in those minutes, mainly that he wasn't to be disrespected, nor would he ever lessen the rules to accommodate a nobody. He wouldn't be swayed by a whimpering female, and he certainly didn't give a fuck about her pathetic reasoning.

"What the hell? They've been in class for one day." Four's words are angry, his voice ripping me away from the monitors. I'd only stopped in under the guise of needing footage of my own class, but this was too good to pass up. I look back at Four, noting the way his lips are pressed together and his stare is fixed on the screen. He'd wandered over to see what I was watching, and he stayed to observe as one of Christina's friends helped pull her to her feet, steadying her friend long after Eric had barked his warning at her.

"There are other ways of disciplining them." Four shakes his head, his expression tight and disapproving. His shoulders are now tense, and though he disagrees with Eric's treatment of Christina, he knows that saying anything about it would only make it worse.

"Maybe she deserved it." I say the words evenly, my fingers hovering over the key to escape out of the screen. Part of me wants to watch it all over again, to memorize every detail of it, every detail of him. The way the muscles in his arms contracted as he crossed them across his chest, the way he watched her with dark eyes that held a hint of malice to them, silently observing while her fingers loosened as she failed to keep a tight grasp on the rail.

I want to watch it again, badly, but Four reaches around me and clicks a button to freeze the screen.

"Are you working here tonight?" he asks me pointedly, polite enough that I can't tell him to fuck off without it looking like I'm an ass. I stare up at him, his deep blue eyes fixed on Christina's friend. He blinks after a second and exits out of the window. "Because if not, I need this computer."

I'm reminded that he works here when he's not training a class, and sometimes while he is training a class. I throw him a nasty smile, and shove the chair back until it hits his shins. "I'm not. I'll get out of your way." I leave without saying another word to him, my mind still stuck on what I just witnessed.

There's something slightly wrong with what Eric did, yes. But there's also something right about it, something so perfectly executed and seamlessly thought out. It happened in a split second, and even I had to admit his control was impressive.

Alluring, even.

I try not to think of him as I stalk towards my apartment, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hoping to run into him.

* * *

Eric and I aren't exactly friends, but we've been around each more than enough to be more than just acquaintances. There have been a few good-natured moments, ones when he had almost been friendly, asking me in a teasing manner if I enjoyed spending my life being compared to Four. He'd all but grinned, goading me to reveal how it felt every time it was one of my initiates I lost to the rankings rather than one of Four's. I know his own rivalry with Four runs deep, driven by a small flicker of insecurity knowing that Four had bested him at one point. I wanted to point out that it didn't matter, that Four had chosen a completely different path, one that was out Eric's direct line of sight.

Well, at least until Eric was assigned to oversee this year's transfer initiate training.

On Wednesday, I run into Eric in the dining hall. He's a rare sight at lunchtime, but today he stalks through here with an air of superiority. He marches past Four with a sneer, his eyes flashing disdain at Four's lunch, before he stops next to me in the long line.

"Four's class looks ready for a nap," he snickers, shoving himself past me to grab a coffee.

His words are meant solely for me, and I smile as he saunters away, as cheerfully disapproving as ever.

* * *

His shitty mood is contagious.

On a cold morning he storms through the hallways, ready to tear into whatever brave soul dares to so much as greet him. The dark look doesn't begin to leave his face until he comes to a halt in front of his office. I catch sight of him as Max escorts me out of his office, my hands full of paperwork that he failed to give me at the start of the training. I don't really need any of it, but Max isn't listening. His attention is now focused on the scowling man in front of us.

Eric sneers as Max greets him, and I shoot him a sympathetic look.

I know his team lost during the war games last night, and I know that Four's class will probably pay dearly for it.

* * *

In some ways, Eric and I are the same. Though he is not Dauntless-born, he carries himself like he owns the place. He holds the initiates to sky high standards, ones that none of them can easily meet. He doesn't put up with any bullshit; if they want to stay here, they need to earn their place here. He and I aren't easily persuaded by any of their sob stories, and I find myself mimicking his dark glares when some of my own initiates begin to seem overwhelmed.

On one of the colder days, I walk by with my own class, noting the way Eric's gaze finds us for no more than a passing glance. He's never been concerned with my class, and I realize he still isn't. I know my class presents no competition to him, but I can't help but wonder if he feels like he and Four are competing somehow with the transfer class.

The cold weather sticks, forcing the classes inside more and more. I half expect to see Eric around more often, but I don't. I can always find Four, though. Today our classes finish at the same time, and he walks beside me up the stairs until we reach a floor with elevators.

"You working tonight?" Four asks. He looks distracted, flicking his gaze over his shoulder a few times and I shrug.

"Not really," I answer, stepping into the elevator. I give him three seconds to follow after me. "Four," I snap, and he hesitates, turning back and squinting into the dark as his class files into the hallway behind us. I don't care to find out what he's looking for.

So I don't wait for him.

I hit the close button, and the doors slide shut before he can even notice.

A few minutes later I scan my security card at the control room door, and throw myself into an empty chair. Idly, I click through a few screens of little interest to me. A dark hallway, the Pit, the hallway of the leaders' offices, a small group of members chatting as they walk through towards the main exit. I'm rewarded when I catch sight of Eric on the monitors, easily striding through one of the lesser used routes, but there's not much to gain through a grainy security feed.

"Where is he going?" Kacie slides into the seat next to mine, like we are the best of friends. I stare at her icy blonde hair, cut sharp and right above her shoulders, and I wonder if the bleach has been absorbed into her brain.

"How the fuck would I know?" I look at her scornfully. "I'm not his secretary."

"No," Kacie snaps back, not the least bit intimidated. "But you are his friend."

The word hangs in the air between us and I try hard to keep from laughing. Eric and I are hardly friends — perhaps we're slightly more than acquaintances who seem to share a mutual disdain for Four and his trainees.

But friends, no.

The longer I stare at Kacie, the more I realize I certainly don't hate that idea. I don't know too much about Eric's friends, but I do know he has a small group of them and that he keeps rather exclusive company. There might be some sort of honor in being associated with him, as if one could impress him enough to be chosen for entry into his social circle.

It seems like an impossible feat.

"Either way, it's not really any of your business, now is it?" I challenge her, waiting for her all-knowing reply.

She keeps her mouth shut, tossing her hair out of her eyes and turning back to her monitor.

"Whatever," she retorts, and I roll my eyes at her unimpressive vocabulary. "You can sit here and stare at him all you want. I have actual work to do."

I very maturely resist the urge to slap her.

* * *

I was right.

Being Eric's friend is quite the unobtainable goal.

I grit my teeth, knowing it's not from a lack of trying. I've attempted to run into him a few times now; I've watched where his friends hang out, and I've tried to time it so I can bump into him at night. The times I've seen him at night he looks feral, nodding sharply in my direction as he walks by. Up close and in the dark he's more imposing, and whatever mission he is on is all-consuming. He never looks back and he never speaks a single word to me.

His friends are of little help.

I can't bear to be around them. It's almost painful to listen to them talk to each other. They are both leaders, and that little fact is mind-blowing. I can't name one useful thing they do, and after fifteen minutes of listening to them babble on about the many uses of chewing gum, I abort that particular mission.

* * *

One day, I hear him utter the word.

Divergent.

He says it with great disgust, nearly spitting it out as though it tastes bad. He and Max are talking, very quietly, as they walk in front of me. I hear him mention Jeanine's name, and it comes at the very moment I sneeze.

Both Eric and Max whip their heads around, their eyes darkening until they realize it's only me. I hold both of my palms up, and shrug. "Sorry. I'm headed to the control room." I try to play it off like I didn't overhear Eric explaining why Divergents shouldn't walk amongst us. I've never been particularly aware of them, and I wouldn't even have the first clue how to find them. At least not during the training classes. I vaguely wonder if they're better at something, maybe fighting? Maybe tricking the simulations? Maybe…

"You agree, don't you?" Eric's eyes are boring into mine, dark and steely, holding me in place. I barely notice that he's caught my elbow, his grip tight enough to make me wince. "They shouldn't be here. It isn't fair, and you like things to be fair, don't you, Lauren?"

My name sounds weird coming from his lips. It's not nice; in fact, it's definitely threatening. So I nod my head, knowing where this is going. "How do you find out if someone is Divergent?" I ask him. I try to keep my breathing even, like his grip isn't starting to hurt. "Should I be looking for them?"

Max laughs, and for the first time since he's been the head leader here, I find myself a tiny bit afraid of him.

Eric smirks and lets go of my arm immediately.

"Tell me if you find any."

* * *

I don't find any Divergents.

I'm not even asked to help him, mostly because I'm busy in my own right. Part of me is screaming, realizing this is a fantastic opportunity to align myself with Eric. The perfect way to show him where I stand.

The only problem is that I can't seem to find Eric because he's not here.

* * *

He returns from wherever he's been with a look of complete and utter glee on his face. He walks alongside Max, talking about the development process for a new screening technology. Max looks impressed, but he's impressed by almost anything that comes out of Erudite, so that's not saying much.

"And she's giving you total authority over this project?" Max asks him. He doesn't look pleased, but I dare say he looks relieved.

Eric smiles darkly.

* * *

I plan out my attack like any Dauntless would, even like Eric would.

It's easier to think of it in a tactile way, almost warlike, my strategies simple and clean. I memorize his schedule, knowing it mimics my own during training hours. There are small exceptions I can't control. His duties as a leader pull him away occasionally, and there are meetings with higher ups that don't particularly know my name. I note those times, knowing they'll be important later on. His after-training schedule isn't super easy to figure out. He has a handful of friends that hang around him, busying his free time with their stupid antics. And in the scant few hours remaining, there is the very rare sight of him in the company of some girl.

Eric is selective, absurdly so.

I've only seen him maybe twice, walking alongside his chosen prey for the evening. I knew where it was going the minute I saw him. He grants his full attention to few, and these girls are no exception. His body language is a minor giveaway, but only if someone were really looking for it. I've been paying attention for some time now, so I know what to look for.

He keeps his head cocked towards them, his eyes dark and hooded, a smirk on his lips. It doesn't seem any different than his normal attitude, but he holds himself in a different manner. His body is angled fractionally closer to them, his hands occasionally grazing them, herding them to his apartment. They know, each and every one of them, what will happen. It won't be anything routine, hell it might not even be anything to their benefit, but it will happen quickly. And they'll leave, a dizzied look on their faces, and not another word of it will be spoken.

It doesn't deter me in the slightest.

These girls aren't worthy of someone that holds his position. It isn't just that he's a leader; no, there's so much more to it. The way he holds himself in such high regard, the way his arrogance is unmatched — and it's warranted. Aside from one minor blemish, Eric is the ideal partner for a life in Dauntless. And he needs someone just like him to walk beside him, someone that can keep up with his intensity, his cunning nature and his sharp disposition.

I never once thought of him like this before, but here I am, sitting across for him in a meeting, staring at his lips. He's currently talking about the training class, giving his very biased opinion on just why Four needs more monitoring, the words eloquently spoken. It's clear he's well-educated, not something that's typically found in Dauntless. I watch his lips form a perfect sneer when someone suggests Four seems distracted lately, for that very observation was uttered by Eric moments ago.

I don't actually have anything to offer up. I don't particularly care what Four does, nor how well his class does. My initiates usually rank well, and there's never been an ounce of discrepancy with the rankings. I get the feeling Eric is pushing Four's class more than normal, but I can appreciate it.

I don't mind the competition one bit.

* * *

He works out beside me and his attention is solely focused on himself.

I watch out of the corner of my eye as he lifts the bar easily, the weights on the end far heavier than I could ever dream of lifting. There are a few others in this part of the training room, but not many. Weight training isn't always added to the training curriculum, therefore initiates often don't feel the need to venture over here, so this part of the room is usually deserted.

I make sure he doesn't see me staring at him. I need to be smart about this, and ogling him will get me nowhere. Eric is well aware of his physical appearance, well aware of the stares that linger over his body. If he weren't in such constant, obvious disdain of every single person around him, he'd have girls flocking to him at all hours of the day. But because of his demeanor, his utterly rough and cruel persona, only a few brave souls ever attempt to make something happen with him.

I extend my arms out, enjoying the pleasant stretch of my muscles. The training classes aren't physically intense for me, but I definitely keep myself in shape. I've spent enough time working with initiates to know the level I need to hold them accountable to, and I'm proud of the muscle that I've acquired over the years. It isn't easy to make the time to work out, especially with too many guilt-inducing things you could eat or drink around here, but I've made it a priority.

So does Eric.

Which makes him all the more appealing.

He sets the bar down with a loud clank, and lifts the bottom of his shirt up to wipe his forehead. I admire the view for a moment longer than necessary, a risky move with Eric's hyper-alertness, but I can't help it. The sight of his abdominal muscles isn't something anyone would want to miss out on, and it only gets better as it tapers off to the narrowing of his waist. He lowers his shirt down suddenly, and he looks right at me.

His eyes meet mine for a split second, something I can't read flashing through his, before he turns and stalks away.

My heart races in an usually fast manner, one I'm not used to, and I realize it's now or never.

* * *

I find him in the showers.

I set my bag down on the bench with a soft thud, knowing it's loud enough that he's probably heard it. The training room has its own set of showers for the trainers, and it's almost deliciously cruel when you think about the initiates and their shared bathroom space.

I walk through the clouds of warm steam.

I'm not nervous so much as I am anxious with anticipation. There's been no obvious signs of interest from Eric, and normally I wouldn't dream of starting something with anyone younger than me. But the two years between us mean nothing when there's so much we could gain from being together. There isn't a single person in this faction worthy of his attention, and I'm determined to make this happen, one way or another.

I approach the showers with my head held high, my bare feet nearly silent on the damp floor. There are only two showers in here and they are separated by a large wall. Each one has an ancient fabric curtain hanging from a rusty rod. Eric hasn't bothered to close the shower curtain, but there's no reason to. No one is ever in here, and there's nothing he'd need to hide from.

I let my eyes trail over him, taking note of the way the muscles in his back tighten as he washes his hair. He is well built, and I try to keep my eyes from sticking to the curve of his ass. I don't get too long to stare at him; he finishes washing his hair and he turns the water off. I watch the water drip down his neck, trailing down the dips in his back as he reaches for a towel. He roughly dries his face off, then wraps the towel around his hips before he sighs and turns around.

"The fuck do you want?" He says the words in the same voice he'd use on anyone, but his gaze looks me up and down quickly. He steps towards me, tilting his head to the side. He's even larger up close; the heavy muscles seem endless as he moves. He's far taller than I am, and he glances down at me, not giving me any indication that he's pleased with my presence before him.

"Funny you should ask." I keep my words light, but not the slightest bit giggly or airy. He's a smart man, and he's not into the ditziness that you find in surprising amounts here. He comes to a dead stop in front of me, and I'm so close to him that I could lick the water off his chest if I were brave enough. How ironic it is that I'm not.

"I was looking for you," I tell him, peering up at his towering form. He hasn't combed his hair yet, and the ends are starting to bend from the damp humidity in the room.

"Really," he responds without much emotion, and I feel a flash of frustration rush through me. This might be a lot harder than I'd originally thought.

"I thought you might want some company." I let the words linger between us, filling in the empty space between my chest and his. All he has to do is step forward and he will be pressed up against me. I can almost see it now. The way he'll grasp me by my ponytail, shove me back until I hit the lockers, his rough hands yanking the tank top off of me as his towel hits the floor.

"If I wanted company, I'd go shower with the initiates." He says the words dismissively, and he peers down at me with a hint of annoyance. Up close, I can see that his eyes are lighter than I expected, a swirl of bright grey that only complements his frigid demeanor.

I swallow, refusing to back down. "That's not what I meant."

He shifts, widening his stance, and his eyes tighten. If I were anyone else I would bolt, rush out of this bathroom and never look back. Instead, I straighten myself up taller and smile at him.

He doesn't smile back.

He simply smirks and walks away, leaving me to stand there in my own hot humiliation.

* * *

The months fall away.

The seasons seem to change every time I blink, winters giving way to cool spring days and warm summer nights. I forget about the Divergents, and I forget about trying to do anything but keep myself busy. I focus on the training classes, working my way through them with an intensity Eric would appreciate, ignoring the warning glances from Four.

But Eric doesn't help with the initiates anymore.

I try not to let it bother me that I don't see him as often as I'd like to. There's clearly nothing I can do about the way my single attempt to get close to him ended, but I still haven't given up. I keep tabs on him in my own way: scrolling through taped footage where I know he'll be, keeping myself distanced — but well aware of him — during the rare meetings I get to sit in on, and occasionally spotting him out at night. He's an uncommon sight in any of the clubs, and he only graces the Pit when his friends force him down there.

A week before the next wave of initiates are due to arrive, I walk beside him in the hallway. Four and I are being pulled into a meeting, something about policy and procedure updates, and Eric looks thrilled to announce that we are fully expected to comply with the new policies. We flank Eric's sides, and my hand accidentally grazes against his when we turn the corner. I note his reaction carefully, the way his jaw seems to tighten and his shoulders pull back.

He doesn't look at me, but his second dismissal is just as clear as his first had been.

* * *

I nearly spill my drink when Peter tells me the news.

It tastes shitty anyway, being something warm and strong, and I am attempting to choke it down when he announces Eric's been assigned a single initiate.

"Why? What's the point of one initiate?" I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, shaking my head furiously. The idea is ridiculous, completely unheard of. What's so special about one single initiate that they deserve one-on-one training? The whole thing reeks of unfairness, of special treatment and of favoritism.

Peter's face lights up. He tends to look angelic even though he's a raging asshole, but right now he just looks thrilled to be the one revealing such important news. "Orders came from Max. Four looked pissed off when he came back this afternoon."

Of course Four looked pissed off. I can imagine the way he would have frowned, knowing someone had been plucked from his class to train with Eric, of all people. The lucky initiate would surely turn out to be Eric's clone, whether they liked it or not.

The girl beside Peter looks intrigued. "Why just the one, though? Why didn't Eric take a few more? Make it more fair?" She shrugs, her blonde hair falling in her face. I don't know her that well, in fact, I don't know any of these guys very well. I only sat down at their table because I needed to ask Peter a few questions about his last patrol, and I'd gotten sucked into having a drink with them. Judging from this conversation, I might as well order another one.

Peter half smiles. "She's the only female in the class. Four and Max are both afraid she'll get murdered in the middle of the night." He pauses and swirls his drink around in the glass. "Lots of things happen when the lights go off. Guess they don't want any incidents this year." He tips his glass at me, as though we're friends, before he downs the rest of his drink.

I would sneer at him, but my mind is reeling.

"She? There's only one female in the transfer class?" My words are too heavily steeped in curiosity, but I can't help myself. "Why wasn't she put in my class?"

Peter shakes his head. "Don't ask me. I'm not a trainer. I just know that Max assigned Eric to train the girl, and there's a huge bet going on about how well she'll do. Wait until you see her. From what I hear, she won't last a week."

I don't say anything else while I finish my beer. I swallow the rest of it down quickly, ignoring the burning feeling in my throat that doesn't want to go away.

* * *

I try not to let out a bark of laughter when I finally catch sight of Eric's lone initiate.

There's something almost deserving about the whole situation, something like fate intervening and assigning him the worst, most terrible and sure-to-fail initiate that's ever stepped foot in Dauntless. It will be a great blow to his ego when she fails, miserably and publicly.

They walk past us without even glancing in our general direction. He keeps his stare trained ahead of him, and she trails after him, walking quickly to keep up with his large stride. She's roughly the same size as me, and she shares the same dark hair that I have. Hers is messily pulled up, like he's given her mere minutes to get ready, and she looks tired.

Her gaze turns to my class for the barest of seconds before he barks her name — well, Amity — and it's all I can do not to snort.

She's from Amity, and Eric has been assigned to train her.

I'm not sure if this will be worse for her or for him.

* * *

It only takes me a week to find the entire situation annoying.

Except I can't quite pinpoint what bothers me the most.

I watch them when I can, small glimpses here and there throughout the day. He trains her on some fucked up schedule that I can't figure out. They start ridiculously early, and end whenever he feels like they've done enough. He keeps her separate, so separate that I nearly never see her, but when I do, I make sure to study her.

Though it's not entirely her fault.

She didn't come here with the intention of being the only female, and though she could have joined my class, Max was right to keep her away from them. The Dauntless-born are out for blood this time, unwilling to give up their spot in Dauntless to this strange, insignificant girl from the hippie faction.

A few weeks into the training class, I realize part of my irritation stems from the odd bond the two of them seem to have formed. Eric is close to almost no one in Dauntless, and in a strange turn of events, he doesn't seem as irritated to train her as one would expect. Instead, he seems to relish in watching her accomplish everything he throws at her. He runs with her every morning, a long route that gives them plenty of time together, most of it outside of the compound.

I catch sight of him teaching her to fight, and my stomach suddenly twists so sharply it almost hurts to step forward. His eyes never leave her; instead they watch her intensely, skating over every inch of her. She's slightly more filled out now that she's built muscle, but she's still far smaller than him, and when she looks up at him, I know the exact angle that she's seeing. He takes her hands, his fingers winding around them to put them in place, holding them a beat too long. He talks to her, his voice serious and low, and he makes sure she looks at him.

He steps back, nodding for a split second while she readies herself to fight.

I don't watch, even though I'd love to see when she discovers just what she's gotten herself into.

* * *

It becomes clear, very clear, that Eric is far beyond invested in his trainee.

He sends her scores on time every week, making sure Four and I both note that she's ranked number one. The numbers on the paperwork are neatly filled out. I scowled the first time I looked through them, certain he cheated on them somehow. Upon further inspection, I found that her score wasn't perfect, but it was higher than anyone else's.

"He only has her to focus on. Of course she's doing well." Four is talking again, and his words are serious and tight. He's been trying to justify the situation since it started in hopes of smoothing over the unease that lurks beneath the surface. I've been waiting for someone to really push the issue, to force it into the open, that this girl is being given a better training than them. Even I have to admit that my students would flourish if I spent my entire day with them, one-on-one, for weeks on end.

"No shit. That doesn't make it right." My words feel sharp coming out of my mouth, and for a moment I hope Four won't pick up on the personal reasons behind them. It isn't right that Eric trains only her, but it's become obvious there's more to it. Max approved their training together, and for reasons Four and I know little about. "It doesn't matter. He'll be done with her after he trains her, and I won't have to listen to this bullshit anymore."

Four nods, his blue eyes and concerned face blurring before me. I force myself to relax, trying to will myself to believe my own words.

But I don't.

And Four knows it.

* * *

Her name is Everly, but Eric uses it sparingly.

He's beyond smart. He's stripped away her identity, left her with nothing more than the basis for the soldier she's training to be. She responds to him just like he wants. Follows after him. Keeps her attention on him. Lets him show her what she's supposed to do and just exactly how to do it.

It's pathetic in my eyes; I would put up a fight, kick him in the balls and remind him that I have a name and he can damned well use it. I wouldn't trail after him like I'd flounder on my own, like I couldn't stand to be apart from him merely because I have no one else here. I wouldn't let him disrespect me by calling me by the name of my former faction.

But she doesn't correct him.

I watch them walk down from the roof together, their boots heavy on the metal staircase. Everly is smiling, her whole face turned towards Eric, waiting for his approval. I'm about to take my own class up to begin their weapons training, but Eric and Everly are far past that. I don't know what they were doing, and I have no way of finding out right now. Instead I eavesdrop, pretending to be waiting for my own class to line up while they slip past me.

"Nice work up there, Amity."

His words scrape against every already-fried nerve in my body. I'm sure my eyes are staring daggers at her, and I wish they would slice through her pale skin. I felt envious when she first arrived here; her skin was a pretty, sun-kissed color, one that spoke of the luxury of spending hours lying in the sun. But weeks of being cooped up inside Dauntless, save for their morning run, have left her pale like everyone one else here. I would have thought she would be vain enough to care, but it doesn't seem to bother her at all. Now she looks over at him, still smiling, utterly pleased with his words. His praise must be rare, because she looks absolutely ecstatic.

"Thanks, Eric."

Her voice is annoying — sweet and happy, and young-sounding. It takes me no time at all to realize she doesn't mind the term. His referring to her by the name of her former faction isn't an insult to her; he's crafted it into her own personal nickname, some sort of ridiculous inside understanding between them.

I grit my teeth together when they approach the training room doors. Eric's hand reaches for her, resting on her lower back as he ushers her through the doors ahead of him.

My mind reels at the image, thinking all sorts of unpleasant thoughts, mostly along the lines of how nice it'll be when she's finally gone from here.

* * *

She sits inappropriately close to him, and not just because he's signed her up for his own leadership program. That delightful news made its way to me quickly. Anything regarding Eric seems to find me faster than I'd like. It isn't anything personally aimed at me. No one is out there seeking out tiny bits of Eric gossip for me. It simply comes my way because no one in Dauntless can keep their mouth shut.

It's far more painful to hear it than to see it — at least that's what I try to tell myself.

In person, they are blinding. He's too large, she's too small. His hair is blonde and sharply cut, hers is dark and trailing down her back. He lets his leg touch hers, his massive thigh pressed up against the dark fabric of her leggings. He leans into her, the muscle of his bicep grazing her arm, and he talks to her like she's the only one that matters. She has unwittingly won the secret, unspoken challenge of encompassing all of Eric's attention. He hangs on whatever she says, his lips quirking up, amused by the girl in front of him even though she still doesn't look like she belongs in Dauntless.

Today she sits in a dark sundress, one that hits mid-thigh and reveals her bare shoulders. Her dress curls up higher as she shifts closer to him, her whole body turning to face him. I have the spiteful urge to remind the moron that it's close to snowing outside. That the winds are biting cold and the skies are growing grayer by the second. I want to snarl at Eric that he needs to reprimand her, that this isn't a game. She isn't here to flit around the compound while he smirks after her. That she should dress like the rest of us.

But I don't, and he doesn't.

In fact, his fingers touch the dark fabric of her dress when she turns to smile goodbye at Christina, and he looks oddly content.

* * *

I wait for her to fuck up royally.

There is a moment in every initiate's training when something goes wrong. Dauntless-born or transfer, there seems to be a gross oversight or misstep; one when the weight of what they are really competing for becomes too much, or they make a snap decision fueled by insufficient sleep, sugary adrenaline, or just plain exhaustion.

I watch her like a hawk, noting the way she's failed to lop off her hair or pierce herself into oblivion in a desperate attempt to fit in. She remains boringly herself, nothing extraordinary or spectacular. Her biggest downfall seems to be that she finds our clothing to be not her taste. She's managed to find the softest of clothes, the sweetest dresses and skirts, and Eric allows it. No one in my class shows up for dinner in a maxi skirt, but Everly does as she pleases.

It's sort of endearing, because it'll make her failure all the more spectacular.

But it doesn't happen.

She's accepted into Eric's Leadership Apprentice Program without a single problem, despite the fact that her training isn't even over yet. There's not one complaint, not one blemish on her record except for the time one of Four's initiates tried to singlehandedly murder her in front of the class. It didn't even faze her. She never falters, never tearfully asks Eric to stop for a minute, and never once sits by the chasm and drinks herself into a stupor.

I pull a few of my own away from the rushing waters, swearing loudly at how stupid they are as they stumble to their feet. I wish they were Everly, because if they were, I'd simply let them go.

* * *

I hear the news while I'm eating dinner beside Four. He seems to always be around now, working in the control room and hogging the one computer that can be relied on to always function properly. I don't know what he's watching so closely, but I can't bring myself to care past the point of annoyance.

"They're married. I wouldn't send my congrats right away. I don't know if they're telling anyone yet."

The noodles stick in my throat, and both Four and I sit there wordlessly.

We've only overheard this news because one of Eric's friends is in here, laughing joyously over his friend's marriage. It's the one with the bun, and he's crowing to his other friend how he knew it, how he just knew that Eric was far more into this girl than anyone thought. I hear him snicker at the story, about how Eric wouldn't let anyone see Everly, not even his own best friends.

"Wow," Four mutters, leaning back in the chair. The news is enough to make him tear his stare away from the monitors, from whatever the hell rundown section he's been poring over. "That's not exactly how I expected that to turn out." He looks over to me, waiting for me to agree with him at the ridiculousness of the situation.

But instead I find myself angry, burningly so.

Now Everly can stay here forever, no matter what her rank is.

* * *

I storm out of Max's office with my hands clenched into fists.

He's clearly lost his mind.

I went to find him with a million defenses firing in my mind for even being so pissed off. The reality of the situation is that it doesn't really affect me, and it certainly doesn't involve me. But there are logical points to be made — that it's unfair, that this girl is now completely free from being held to any of our training standards. She could come in dead last and she'd still be allowed to reside in the compound. And there's the fact that she isn't done with the training class yet, that she isn't even supposed to be fraternizing with any members of Dauntless, let alone one of the leaders.

I find myself growing frantic while Max listens, and it's obvious that none of my points matter. Max irritably points out that we have no rules about marriage here. Eric is free to marry anyone who is willing to marry him, including his trainee.

"I heard his little wife didn't even know she was married to him," I announce, hoping my words force Max to actually think about this more than he thought about what type of coffee he'd select today. I stare at him pointedly, knowing full well Eric didn't ask Everly to marry him. He just wouldn't. There's no scenario on Earth that would prompt that man to ask her anything that romantic. "I mean, why would anyone marry Eric?"

Max blinks at me.

He stays quiet for an uncomfortable amount of time, his eyes glazed over as he thinks hard about my words. I feel triumphant, knowing he hasn't thought of this. I should smack him with the folders on his desk if he really thought Eric was kind enough to ask Everly anything.

He suddenly makes a face, as if some sort of realization is happening and he's powerless to stop it.

"You look weird," I gloat, watching him carefully, waiting from him to announce I'm right. That he'll go find Eric and reprimand him, force him to realize how truly stupid it was to marry such a young girl.

It doesn't happen.

"Leave him alone. It's his business and not yours. And her name is on the marriage certificate. I doubt he held her at gunpoint and forced her to sign it." Max says the words slowly, and my hopes collapse instantly. I'm not even sure why I felt hopeful, but he's killed it by drilling home the point that he doesn't care what Eric has done. It's just another example of how powerful Eric's position is, how much authority he holds here.

My exasperation is at its peak and I sigh in defeat. "Fine. But I'm going to ask him about it the next time I see him."

I leave before he can respond, too fed up with this entire faction today. It's obvious I won't get anywhere with Max, and asking Eric about his marital status might be the only way to actually get answers around here.

* * *

It takes four days.

I finally catch him alone in a quiet hallway, his head angled down at the tablet in his hand. His jacket looks stiff and new, and I note the blue Erudite stripe that runs across his arm.

"Hey," I greet him, loudly enough to catch his attention. He jerks his head in annoyance, and he looks at me with contempt for breaking his concentration.

"Yes?" he prompts, his voice dripping with impatience. I can't help but wonder if he speaks to his wife like this, if Everly enjoys listening to him snap and snarl at her.

"I heard you married Everly. Never thought you were one for cheating," I scoff at him, coming to a stop in front of him. I'm not sure where this rush of confidence has come from, but Eric certainly doesn't appreciate it. He straightens his spine, and he suddenly looks very dangerous. Deadly, even. "I think there are other ways to make sure your initiate stays in Dauntless. You know, like actually training her."

I should stop, but the words fly from my mouth, bitter and angry. Eric's expression hardens into something more malicious, reminding me of the time he showed Christina just how serious he was.

"You think I married her in case she failed her training? So she wouldn't have to leave Dauntless?" Eric's voice sends a shiver up my spine. His words are dark and heavy, spoken with a slow lethalness.

I shrug. "I don't see why else you would marry the little weirdo. You can't possible enjoy listening to her talk about butterflies all day."

I'm being petty. Everly is far from being the kind of weirdo that everyone associates with Amity. Aside from her tendency to dress like it's perpetually summer, she's adjusted quite well. And I've never actually heard her speak aside from a few small remarks to Eric. God only knows what the two of them talk about, but judging by the fury that's darkening across Eric's face, it's not what I think.

Eric steps towards me until there is no space between us. In this moment I give Four credit for ever beating Eric in a fight, because he is utterly intimidating. He looks down at me, his jaw clenched and his eyes so dark they nearly bleed black, and he utters his words so nastily that I want to step away from him.

"Don't you ever, ever, talk about my wife like that again."

It's all the worse hearing the confirmation from him. I never in a million years thought Eric would marry anyone, not even me. But hearing him refer to Everly as his wife, very sternly so, makes it all too real.

"She's not even a member of Dauntless. I had no idea that's what you're into." How I manage to say these words is beyond me. I'm either braver than I thought or I've lost my mind.

Eric sneers at me, his handsome face now inches from my own.

"You might want to start paying more attention to your own class, and less to what Everly and I are doing." He hisses the words through his teeth before he straightens himself upright. He looks directly in my eyes, and his expression changes into an arrogant smirk, full of the same dark amusement he had when he walked away from me in the showers. "And by the way, Lauren," he emphasizes my name, and I try to keep my expression neutral, "Four's initiates are ranking higher than yours. You might wanna take a look at the scoreboard one of these days."

My blood boils, hot and heavy, as he stalks off down the hallway.

* * *

He holds her hand.

I stare at them, dumbfounded and completely caught off guard, despite the fact that I'm well aware they are married. I feel a nasty rush of sickness at the sight. If I focus hard enough, I can almost sense what his hand would feel like. The largeness of his palm, the roughness of his fingers, the warmth of it as it presses against hers.

I close my eyes, risking crashing into one of the walls and not even caring that I could fall down the stairs. The hot, sticky feeling that's running through my veins feels like jealousy, and I'd rather throw myself off the roof than feel like this.

He holds onto her tightly, his grip keeping her in place beside him, and I half hope he'll hold on hard enough to break her fingers.

* * *

Max catches my elbow in the hallway and pulls me to a stop.

"Are you fully prepared for your next class?"

His question catches me by surprise. I've been training the initiates for a while now, and there's not much I need to do to prepare. I'll follow the same routine as before, keeping them on the same schedule to make sure we end on time. My Dauntless-born class won't be as rough as the transfer class; even though they don't know exactly what they'll be doing, they're typically more mentally prepared.

"I'm ready," I answer offhandedly.

Max grins. "Good. I want to give you a heads up — Everly is training with Four to learn how to teach the initiation class. She's already been briefed on the position and what it entails, and she and Four have been preparing ahead of time. If she needs any further help, I expect you to be available."

His words are crisp and cheerful, and I try to smile hard enough so he won't know how badly I want to punch some sense into him.

Of course she'd train for a position identical to the one I hold.

It seems like a slap in the face, like an ironic gesture from someone that plainly tells me to go fuck myself, even though she'll have absolutely nothing to do with my class. I want to tell him that I have no desire to help Everly do anything, but I don't.

I don't answer him, either.

"This is important for us," Max continues, and his words are authoritative now. "All leaders are expected to be able to step into any position at any time. Your duty to your faction is greatly appreciated, Lauren."

He lets go of my arm and walks away before I can point out that I never agreed to help her.

* * *

I watch her walk alongside Four and I want to throw up. She looks at ease as they head through the training room. She looks happy here. She's no longer this girl from Amity, she's now a full-fledged member with actual responsibilities. She's been sent to train with Four's class, and while I know the position is temporary — after all, she's got to learn how to train them — it's got an odd sense of permanence to it.

Especially since after all this time, she's finally dressed appropriately.

I watch her take off the hoodie she's wearing, something dark and oversized, holding it in her arms while she walks. Anyone with half a brain can figure out it belongs to Eric, and I try hard to ignore the rage that I feel at the sight of it.

* * *

Eric and Max look serious as they stand together, perched high above the members of Dauntless. These meetings are new, thrust upon us by a threat to our security. They were announced after the return of Everly; it was the near murder of her that seemed to really drive home the point that Evelyn isn't fucking around. So they summoned all of us, as many as could cram themselves into the Pit, to listen to whatever they have to say.

I scan the room, trying to force my way through the crowd. There's an air of uneasy excitement that seems to fill the space surrounding the crowds of people. I use my elbows to clear members out of my path until I reach the side of the room, where I find a less congested spot to stand.

From this angle, I can see Eric. He keeps his lips pressed together, and his hands are clamped behind his back. He surveys the room with an air of disdain, and I can't help but sigh.

This meeting isn't slated to be anything but informative. For a long time, I heard rumors that Jeanine was the one to look out for. Her execution hadn't come as a huge surprise, but it had come with a warning to anyone who sought her sort of power. But this Evelyn, whoever she is, doesn't seem to think that applies to her. So now we will rally our defenses to find her and her army, and to remind them just who they are up against.

I pull the collar of my jacket tighter.

I would have to be completely heartless not to admit that it also came at the expense of Eric's wife. Her kidnapping, so slyly thought out and easily arranged, had been eye-opening. We'd been slacking, allowing them to walk amongst us without so much as a second glance. I only heard about what happened on the day when Everly was taken by her very own initiate. I caught sight of the look on Four's face when Everly didn't return from lunch, the panic that spread through the class when they realized their trainer and one very large initiate were gone, and the alarm that went off, announcing she was missing.

I only heard small bits and pieces about Eric's reaction. How he lost it upon being told she was gone, how he went after anyone who stepped near him — bashing Four's face in, knocking one of the patrol guards nearly unconscious, storming through the hallways with blood on his hands and a look in his eyes that was darker than anything that had ever been there before.

The weeks that followed were almost unbearable. It affected my own class in ways I didn't expect it to. My class was suddenly on edge; snappy and irritable with each other, seemingly agitated at the littlest things. It took me a day to realize they were afraid. Their home had been violated and Everly's kidnapping had occurred on the very ground we walk upon. It took me a week of goading them to get them back on track, reminding them of who we are and why they want to stay here, refocusing them back to their training.

And of course, she came back.

It came as a shock, considering we all thought she was dead, but soon enough she was back holding Eric's hands and staring at him with an odd expression.

She's got the same expression on her face now.

I catch sight of her — her dark hair and her dark jacket blend in with everyone else's, but she's standing beside Four, and he's easy to spot. They are talking to each other conspiratorially, but they both look like they'd rather be anywhere else than in the middle of the entire population of Dauntless.

I turn my head when Max starts talking.

Well, yelling really.

"Alright, listen up," Max commands, and the Pit quiets down to a dull roar. "We've got a lot to cover and not a lot of time."

I glance at Everly one final time. She and Four have stepped more to the side, seeking out a less-populated space to stand. It takes a minute, but eventually everyone finally shuts up, their attention now on Max.

"I'd like to take this opportunity to remind everyone that Evelyn is still at large. I want you all on high alert. We need to start behaving as though she's already attacked us, because she has. Everly was the first near-casualty of Evelyn's grab for power, and we will not have another." His voice echoes in the open space.

At the mention of her name, most of the members turn to look for her. She keeps her face neutral, her eyes focused on Max, listening obediently. Max continues on, listing new security measures he's implementing, including the addition of three separate patrols whose only job will be to look for Evelyn, along with a long list of things to look out for.

Everyone listens to him as Max makes his final point. Seeing Everly in person only makes the attacks more personal, more real. They murmur amongst themselves, and I tune it out as Max takes a step to the side and Eric shoves past him until he's standing up front. The entire time Max was speaking, Eric seemed annoyed. He stood with his jaw clenched together tightly, keeping his eyes on the members before him. I wonder if Max told him he would mention Everly.

"There's one final announcement," Eric barks out to the crowd.

I crane my neck up to look at him. Everyone is silent, for once so silent that you can almost hear the wind in the hallways. "Today marks the one year anniversary of my marriage to Everly. Not only is Everly my wife," he pauses for a long moment, and I unexpectedly feel like I've been punched in the stomach, "She's going to be one of the leaders of this faction. You're to treat her with the utmost respect."

I feel frozen in place, stunned at this public statement.

The entire room is silent, heads turning until they catch sight of her. She looks surprised, caught off guard by Eric's declaration. Somehow, amongst a sea of black and more black, she's managed to catch Eric's eye.

She stares up at him with a shocked expression until her face suddenly relaxes and her gaze softens. In that brief moment, I can tell that she's sweetly and embarrassedly pleased at her husband's announcement.

"You're dismissed. You can all go back to your business." Eric sneers his final words, and the Pit suddenly roars back to life. I find myself still unable to move. My eyes are stuck on Eric as his words run through my mind. Max leans into him, saying something in his ear and Eric laughs dryly. All around me there are yelps of congratulations, a few girls shrieking things to each other like "I knew it!" and "No fucking way", and more than a few girls who look utterly crushed.

I want to snarl 'good fucking luck' at them.

They never stood a chance.

* * *

The room that the trainers use to tally up our scores is small, and it seems even smaller with the addition of Everly. She sits beside Four; her hair is pulled up into a bun, and she's very intently working on the paperwork we're required to complete. There's no room for error here — the lives of these initiates are on the line, and one small mistake could be the difference between becoming a member or becoming factionless.

I lean back in my chair, chewing on the end of my pen.

I wonder if Eric had to teach Everly to count.

I smirk at the thought, shoving another page in her direction.

I'm not overly pleased with the way my class ended up scoring. For once, the Dauntless-born didn't seem quite up to the challenge I threw at them. I watched them flounder in the rankings a bit. Still, I observe Everly carefully, trying to ignore the wedding ring on her finger. It flashes from time to time, catching the low lighting. I wonder if Eric picked it out himself.

Out of nowhere Everly frowns at the papers, and I hope she's looking at the scores of someone she was hoping would stay.

"I got 89 for Joey? That seems sort of low for him." She looks at Four expectantly, as though he should have the initiates and their scores memorized. He's busy with his own papers, confirming everything Everly has already gone over. I admit that this isn't taking as long as I thought it would. The addition of Everly isn't completely awful for this part. She and Four work as some sort of odd team, with a weird understanding of each other. I have half a mind to congratulate Four on making another friend here in Dauntless, but I keep my mouth shut.

"I did, too. It's lower than I would have expected," Four answers, and he looks up. "92 for Peyton."

I sit up, feeling suddenly defensive.

Peyton is from my class, and she seemed to do pretty well.

"Are you sure? I thought she scored higher than that. She was fourth in the rankings before. Let me see that," I ask suspiciously. Four slides the papers over to me, and I flip through them. My own handwriting flashes before my eyes, and I try to ignore the tiny, daintily scrawled notes that Everly has made to help keep track of scoring.

Even her handwriting irritates me.

I stop when I get towards the end. The summary I filled out is there, confirming Peyton's lack of necessary points during weapons training.

"I forgot she was terrible at rifle training," I huff, letting the papers hit the table. I shove them back at Four and he nods.

"She lost the majority of her points there. Did she ever improve?" he asks, stretching his head to the side.

"Of course she did. Not until the end, though," I answer offhandedly. I still feel oddly defensive of my class, even though neither Four nor Everly have spoken a word to criticize any of them.

"Alright, then. We just need to put these in order before we give them to Max," Four announces.

Beside him, Everly is busying herself with stapling together all the pages of our final paperwork. I have an urge to rip it out of her hands and make sure it's done right. She looks up with a strange expression across her face, and she sighs.

"Do either of you think that maybe we should keep more than just the top ten? There have to be jobs available that don't get filled."

I stare at her.

The rule for how many may stay in Dauntless isn't one that's up for debate. It's a newer rule — in fact, it's one that Eric instituted — but it's staunchly enforced. But considering how many transfers come through here, competing against the Dauntless-born, it does condemn an inordinate number of initiates to living factionless.

"Yes, but it's not my decision. It's how it's been... for a while now," Four answers cautiously, shaking his head. "There are positions they could fill. There are lots of lower level jobs they could hold, but it's something that would have to be brought up at one of your meetings. Only the leaders would have any real say in how many members we accept."

"I could bring it up," she announces, saintly as ever. "There's a meeting fairly soon. Maybe we could vote on it."

"You're just going to bring it up at the next meeting? Just like that, huh?" I find myself unable to keep my mouth shut, but I'm having a hard time believing that Everly can just bring up a huge policy change.

"Why not?" She looks right at me, and I can tell she doesn't appreciate me questioning her. I get the distinct impression that Eric may have let Everly believe she has more power than she does. I want to remind her she's simply in training. She could possibly fail Eric's class for suggesting stupid changes.

I must have a nasty expression on my face because Four gives me a reproachful look. "It may be difficult to get Eric and everyone else to agree with it. He's always had very clear ideas about who belongs in Dauntless," he responds diplomatically.

I roll my eyes.

"Tell me about it," Everly laughs, as though this is some inside joke between her and Four. "I'm done with these."

"Good." Four adds the papers to his own pile. He stops after a second and gives a small smile to Everly and me. "I think we're ready."

We stand up, Everly and I at the same time, and I don't look at her as we file out of the small room. For the first time in a long time, I'm glad to be done with the training classes. It means less seeing Everly and less realizing she's still going home to Eric.

* * *

For once, Four isn't hovering over the good computer in the control room.

I sit down before he can appear, logging in and flipping through various camera feeds until I come across Eric in the training room, pounding the punching bag furiously. His face is covered in sweat, and I find myself staring at his arm muscles as they contract with each blow. He's visibly agitated, and I'm fascinated by the anger with which he hits the bag.

I can't stop watching him as he attacks it repeatedly, but I'm yanked sharply out of my reverie when I spot Everly walking in, clad in a ridiculous sundress. She stops just behind Eric, tilting her to head to watch him. For once, he pays no attention to her. He stays focused, hitting the bag a bit longer, but then stops and faces her. From the high angle of the camera I can see him talking, but Eric's stance tells me something is clearly wrong.

For once, there is a sense of unease coming from the both of them.

Eric turns back to resume his workout, having seemingly dismissed his wife. But Everly lunges at him before he gets there, yanking his arm and causing him to stumble. My mouth drops open when she reaches for his throat, as though she wants to choke him, but he swats her hands away easily and drops her to the ground. I scoff at her weak attempt; she must be delusional if she thinks she can beat Eric in a fight.

She scowls at him, shoving her hair out of her face.

I can't believe my luck when he squares his shoulders and widens his stance, and I realize this is nowhere near over. Not only do I get to witness them fighting, but maybe this is enough to finally break them apart. Maybe he's finally come to his senses, realizing exactly the mistake he made when he married her. I can only hope this is the case.

I watch as they exchange a few more tense words, but neither of them backs down. Eric suddenly strips off his t-shirt while Everly adjusts her ponytail and glares at him. I lean back in my chair, unimpressed as ever. Clearly, she's learned nothing from Eric if her main concern is how her hair will look in this fight.

Eric rolls his shoulders and glances her up and down, as though he needs to size her up. He takes a step towards her; to her credit, Everly rushes forward and delivers a decent blow to his stomach.

Maybe she's braver than I thought.

Eric responds by grabbing her arm and pulling her into him, his face arranged in his trademark sneer. He lets her go, and she tries again, punching him in the side and torso with little success, until he knocks her back. He stops her from falling, and says something that obviously pisses her off. To my surprise, she tries to punch him in the face. Eric is able to catch her fist midair, and he pushes her back again, amused by her futile efforts.

All the fight seems to leave Everly as she looks up at him, defeated.

He steps towards her, dropping his head to peer down at her, and I can feel the disappointment building at his actions. I wish he'd finish her off, pummel her into the mats for daring to attack him.

But to my utter shock, Everly suddenly knees Eric in the groin, and he reels back, hunching over from the pain. He stumbles a bit, and a moment later he glares up at Everly. In record time, he recovers from the blow and grabs her, trapping her against his body. He finally slams her down onto the mat and pins her with his weight bearing down on her, locking one hand over her head when she tries to sit up.

I freeze.

To see them like this feels oddly voyeuristic. I half want to look away so I don't see him on top of her, holding her in place. But I can't. I find myself leaning forward, my eyes glued to them. Everly is talking to Eric, and I wish to God that the microphones in our security cameras were better and could pick up their words. I'd give anything to be able to hear what they're saying, but they're too far away and not talking loudly enough.

Whatever it is, though, it seems to be calming them both down, because Everly's free hand has found its way into Eric's hair and she has pulled him closer to her. He lets go of her other hand, and she reaches up to run that through his hair, too.

I can hardly stand to watch the way he relaxes as she touches him. The anger from earlier seems to evaporate from him, and she pulls him closer, her fingers digging into his hair. I watch in disgust as he seems to settle against her, obviously familiar with being between her legs. Suddenly Eric is kissing her furiously, and she's kissing him back. She raises her knees up, drawing him closer to her. I watch as her dress creeps up higher, bunching up as he pushes himself against her. They continue on so long that I briefly consider turning off the computer and storming into the training room to rudely interrupt them, but before I can, Eric moves his lips to travel across her throat and collarbone, pushing the strap of her dress down. A moment later, he rises up, pausing briefly as he unzips his pants, shoving them down his legs.

No.

This can't be happening. This is the absolute last thing I want to see and I reach for the mouse, ready to click to another screen. But for some reason I can't. My fingers don't click on anything, and the screen image only seems to sharpen as she suddenly sits up.

Her eyes look wide as she pulls up the straps of her dress. She glances up at the camera, and Eric follows her gaze, a delighted smile creeping across his face as he stares directly at me.

Well, he's staring at the camera. But from my viewpoint, he's looking straight at me, and there is no doubt in my mind that Eric knows of their positioning through the compound.

Everly half rises, shoving her dress back into place, and kisses Eric. They break apart quickly, and she smiles up at him. He nods and stands, pulling his pants back up as he does, then reaches out to her, yanking her up effortlessly. He embraces her again, his hands lost in her hair until she steps back from him. She extends her arm out, taking his hand in hers, and then they walk out of the training room together, hand in hand.

I watch them until they are out of sight, disappearing through the training room doors together.

The disappointment is burning hot. I feel embarrassed that I ever dared think that he'd find fault in her. It's obvious now that there is nothing that will come between them. It's more than clear that she is his, and he is hers, and that's not likely to ever change.

It makes me hate her all the more for knowing him in ways that I never will.


End file.
